LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Rebellion 


Peccavi. " 


Rebellion 


By 
Joseph  Medill  Patterson 

Author  of  "A  Little  Brother  of  the  Rich/'  eto. 


Illustrated  6j/ 
Walter  Dean  Goldbeck 


Publishers 

The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co. 
Chicago 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  1911 

by 
The  Beilly  &  Britton  Co. 

All  rights  reserved 


Entered  At  Stationers'  Hall 


First  Printing,  September  11 


REBELLION 

Published  October  2,  1911 


Illustrations 

' '  PECCAVI  " Frontispiece 

< <  HE  DOESN  >T  LIVE  HERE  ANY  MORE  " 66 

' '  GEORGIA    LAUGHED  "    312 

EEBELLION 346 


List  of  Chapters 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    JIM   CONNOR    9 

II     ONE  FLESH    23 

III  AN  ECONOMIC  UNIT   39 

IV  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE 49 

V    FOR  IDLE  HANDS  TO  Do   67 

VI     TRIANGULATION 72 

VII     A  SENTIMENTAL  JOURNEY   82 

VIII     THE  LIFE  FORCE 94 

IX     THE  PRETENDERS 99 

X     MOXEY 123 

XI     FUSION    136 

XII     MOXEY  's  SISTER  145 

XIII  EEENTER   JIM 157 

XIV  THE  PALACE  OF  THE  UNBORN  163 

XV    MR.    SILVERMAN    177 

XVI     GEORGIA  LEAVES  HOME  188 

XVII     THE  LIGHT  FLICKERS   197 

XVIII     THE  PRIEST   204 

XIX     SACRED  HEART  217 

XX     SURRENDER 223 

XXI     WORSHIP 229 

XXII     KANSAS   CITY    239 

XXIII  THE  LAST  OF  THE  OLD  MAN 247 

XXIV  THE  NEW  KING   255 

XXV     JIM  REENLISTS 264 

XXVI     EVE 277 

XXVII     THE  NAPHTHALINE  EIVER 286 

XXVIII     ALBERT  TALBOT  CONNOR 296 

XXIX     THE  DOCTOR  TALKS  306 

XXX     FRANKLAND  &  CONNOR 313 

XXXI     THE  STODGY  MAN    324 

XXXII     REBELLION 334 

XXXIII  THE  APE 348 

XXXIV  WHICH  BEGINS  ANOTHER  STORY  .  .  352 


NOTE 

I  wish  to  thank  Mr.  Francis 
Hackett  for  reading  the  unrevised 
proofs  of  this  story. 

J.  M.  Patterson. 


JIM  CONNOR 

"J.O.M." 

"Nope,  promised  to  be  home  on  time  for 
supper. ' ' 

' '  Get  panned  last  night  ? ' ' 

"Yep." 

The  group  of  men  turned  to  the  clock  which 
was  ticking  high  up  on  the  wall  between  the 
smudgy  painting  of  Leda  and  The  Swan  and 
the  framed  group  photograph  of  famous  pugi- 
lists from  Paddy  Ryan  to  the  present  day. 

"It's  only  nineteen  past;  plenty  time  for 
just  one  more." 

Jim  Connor  compared  his  watch  with  the 
dockland  found  they  tallied.  The  grave  bar- 
tender took  the  dice  and  box  from  behind  the 
cigar  counter  and  courteously  placed  them 
upon  the  bar. 

"Well,"  bargained  Jim,  "if  it  is  just  one 
more. ' ' 

"J.  0.  M."  they  chorused,  and  the  dice 
rolled  upon  the  polished  oak. 

9 


Rebellion 

" What '11  it  be,  gents ?" 

"Beer." 

"Scotch  high." 

"Bourbon." 

"A  small  beer,  Jack." 

"Beer." 

"Yours,  Jim?"  prompted  the  watchful  bar- 
tender. 

"Well — I  guess  you  can  give  me  a  cigar 
this  time,  Jack." 

The  practiced  bartender,  standing  by  his 
beer  pump,  slid  the  whisky  glasses  along  the 
slippery  counter  with  a  delicate  touch,  as  a 
skillful  dealer  distributes  cards.  He  set  out 
the  red  and  smoky  whiskies,  the  charged 
water,  the  tumbler,  with  its  cube  of  ice ;  drew 
two  glasses  of  beer,  scraped  the  top  foam 
into  the  copper  runway,  and  almost  simul- 
taneously, as  if  he  had  four  hands,  laid  three 
open  cigar  boxes  before  Jim,  who  selected  a 
dark  "Joe  Tinker." 

"Join  us,  Jack,"  invited  the  loser  of  the 
dice  game,  hospitably  waving  his  hand.  The 
efficient  bartender  drew  a  small  half-glass  of 
lithia  for  himself.  Five  feet  rested  upon  the 
comfortable  rail  before  the  bar,  there  was  the 


10 


Jim  Connor 

little  pause  imposed  by  etiquette,  six  glasses 
were  raised  to  eye-level. 

"Here's  whatever." 

"Happy  days." 

"S 'looking  at  you,"  ran  the  murmur. 

* '  The  big  fellow ! ' '  exclaimed  one. 

Chorus :    ' '  Yes,  the  big  fellow ! ' ' 

"I'll  sure  have  to  come  in  on  that,"  said 
Jim,  pressing  between  two  shoulders  to  the 
bar.  "A  little  bourbon,  Jack,"  he  asked 
briskly. 

The  other  glasses  were  lowered  until  Jim 
also  received  his. 

Then  all  were  again  raised  to  eye-level. 
Unanimously,  '  '  The  big  fellow ! ' ' 

Heads  were  thrown  back  and  each  ego 
there,  except  the  bartender,  received  a  charm- 
ing little  thrill. 

The  beer  men  wandered  to  the  back  of  the 
saloon  and  dipped  into  a  large  pink  hemis- 
phere of  cheese.  The  whisky  men  sup- 
pressed coughs.  Jim  tipped  his  head  back 
about  five  degrees  and  inquired,  "Is  the  big 
fellow  coming  'round  to-night?" 

"He's  due,"  replied  Jack,  wiping  his  bar 
dry  again. 

"How's  things  looking  to  you?" 

11 


Rebellion 

"We — ell,  there's  always  a  lot  of  knockers 
about" 

"Yes,  *  pikers'  like  Ben  Birch  and  Coffey 
Neal,  that  line  up  with  the  big  fellow  for  ten 
years  and  then  throw  him  overnight  because 
he  won't  let  'em  name  the  alderman  this  time. 
And  he  always  treated  'em  right.  Better 
than  me.  An'  jou  ever  hear  me  kicking?" 

"Nary  once,  Jim." 

"That's  because  I  am  a  white  man  with 
my  friends.  But  these  other  Indians — well, ' ' 
said  Jim  earnestly,  "God  knows  ingratitude 
gets  my  goat." 

Jim  Connor  was  a  ward  heeler  and  the 
big  fellow  was  his  ward  boss.  Jim  was  al- 
lowed to  handle  some  of  the  money  in  his  pre- 
cinct at  primaries  and  elections ;  he  landed  on 
the  public  pay-roll  now  and  then ;  he  was  ex- 
pected to  attend  funerals,  bowling  matches, 
saloons,  picnics,  cigar  shops  and  secret  so- 
ciety meetings  throughout  the  year ;  his  influ- 
ence lay  in  his  strength  with  the  big  fellow. 
Did  a  storekeeper  want  an  awning  over  the 
sidewalk,  or  did  he  not  want  vigorous  build- 
ing inspection,  if  he  lived  in  Jim's  precinct, 
he  told  Jim,  and  Jim  told  the  big  fellow,  and 
the  big  fellow  told  the  alderman,  and  the 

12 


Jim  Connor 

alderman  arranged  it  with,  his  colleagues  on 
a  basis  of  friendship.  In  return,  the  store- 
keeper voted  with  the  organization,  which 
was  the  big  fellow,  who  was  thus  enabled  al- 
ways to  nominate  and  usually  to  elect  can- 
didates who  would  do  what  he  told  them. 
He  told  them  to  line  up  with  the  interests 
who  had  subscribed  to  the  campaign  fund — 
and  he  was  the  campaign  fund.  The  entire 
process  is  pretty  well  known  nowadays 
through  the  efforts  of  Mr.  Lincoln  Steffens 
and  his  associate  muckrakers. 

But  there  is  no  immediate  cause  for  alarm ; 
this  is  not  a  political  novel. 

The  clock  pointed  nearly  to  seven  and  Jim, 
when  he  saw  it,  sighed.  That  meant  un- 
pleasantness. His  supper  certainly  would  be 
cold,  but  he  wasn't  thinking  of  that.  He  was 
thinking  of  his  wife.  She  was  sure  to  make 
him  uncomfortable  in  some  way  or  other,  be- 
cause he  had  broken  his  promise  about  be- 
ing home  on  time.  Probably  she  would  be 
silent.  If  there  was  anything  he  hated,  it  was 
one  of  her  silent  spells.  Just  "No"  and 
"Yes,"  and  when  he  asked  her  what  in  hell 
was  the  matter,  she  would  say  '  '  Nothing. ' ' 

The  trouble  was,  though,  that  he  always 

13 


Rebellion 

knew  what  the  matter  was,  even  when  she 
said  "Nothing."  What  devil's  power  was 
there  in  wives,  anyway,  that  enabled  them 
to  hurt  by  merely  not  speaking?  He  had  tried 
silences  on  her  a  lot  of  times,  but  they  never 
worked,  not  once.  He  liked  the  old  days  bet- 
ter, when  she  used  to  scold  and  plead  and 
weep. 

He  remembered  the  first  time  he  had  come 
home  drunk,  half  a  dozen  years  ago,  when  he 
had  barely  turned  from  bridegroom  to  hus- 
band. She  helped  him  that  night  to  undress 
and  to  go  to  bed.  And  she  had  done  other 
things  for  him,  too,  that  even  now  he  was 
ashamed  to  remember.  And  the  next  day  she 
hadn't  scolded  once,  but  had  fetched  him  a 
cup  of  coffee  in  bed  as  soon  as  he  woke  up. 
It  surprised  him;  overwhelmed  him.  It  had 
made  him  very  humble.  He  had  never  been 
so  repentant  before  or  since. 

She  didn't  reproach  him  that  time — not  a 
word.  He  didn't  mean  she  had  one  of  her 
silences — those  didn't  begin  until  much  later ; 
but  she  tried  to  talk  about  their  usual  affairs, 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  And  everything 
had  happened.  They  both  knew  that. 


14 


Jim  Connor 

It  wasn't  until  the  next  evening,  thirty-six 
hours  later,  that  he  came  home  to  find  her 
a  miserable  heap  upon  the  front  room  sofa, 
her  face  buried.  He  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  looking  at  her  helplessly,  his  words 
of  greeting  cut  short.  Every  now  and  then 
her  small  shoulders  heaved  up  and  he  heard 
her  sob.  She  must  have  been  crying  a  long 
time.  He  implored  her,  "Oh,  don't,  Georgia, 
don't;  please  don't;  won't  you  please  not?" 

After  a  little  while  she  stood  up  and  put 
her  arms  about  him  and  kissed  him.  He  had 
never  had  such  a  feeling  for  her,  it  seemed 
to  him,  not  even  when  they  walked  down  the 
aisle  together  and  she  leaned  on  him  so 
heavily.  And  then  he  kissed  her  solemnly, 
in  a  different  way  than  ever  before.  He  took 
the  pledge  that  night,  and  he  kept  it,  too,  for 
a  long  time,  nearly  a  year.  That  was  the 
happy  time  of  his  life. 

When  he  did  begin  again,  it  was  gradually. 
She  knew,  after  a  time,  he  wasn't  teetotal 
any  more,  and  she  didn't  seem  to  mind  so 
much.  He  remembered  they  talked  about  it. 
He  explained  that  he  could  drink  moderately, 
that  she  could  trust  him  now,  and  mustn't 


15 


Rebellion 

ever  be  afraid  of  any  more — accidents.  And 
that  very  same  night  he  came  home  drunk. 

She  cried  again,  but  it  wasn't  as  solemn 
and  as  terrible  for  either  of  them  as  the  time 
before. 

There  had  been  other  times  since,  many  of 
them.  And  she  had  grown  so  cursedly  con- 
temptuous and  cold.  Well — he  didn't  know 
that  it  was  altogether  his  fault.  He  had 
heard  that  alcoholism  was  a  disease.  But 
she  had  said  it  was  a  curable  disease,  and 
if  he  couldn't  cure  it,  he  had  better  die.  His 
own  wife  had  told  him  that.  God  knows  he 
had  tried  to  cure  it.  He  had  put  every  pound 
he  had  into  the  fight ;  not  once,  but  a  hundred 
times.  He  had  gone  to  Father  Hervey  and 
taken  the  pledge  last  Easter  Day,  and — here 
he  was  with  a  whiskey  glass  in  his  hand. 

He  looked  across  into  the  high  bar  mirror. 
His  eyes  were  yellow  and  his  cheeks  seemed 
to  sag  down.  He  put  his  hand  to  them  to 
touch  their  flaccidity.  His  hair  was  thinning, 
there  were  red  patches  about  his  jaws  where 
veins  had  broken,  and  his  mouth  seemed 
loose  and  ill-defined  under  the  mustache 
which  he  wore  to  conceal  it.  He  frowned 
fiercely,  thrust  his  chin  forward  and  gritted 

16 


Jim  Connor 

his  teeth  tightly  to  make  of  himself  the  re- 
flection of  a  strong  man — one  who  could  dom- 
ineer, like  the  big  fellow.  But  it  was  no  use — 
the  mirror  gave  him  back  his  lie. 

The  afternoon  rush  was  over,  the  evening 
trade  had  not  begun,  and  the  saloon  was 
empty,  save  for  a  group  of  scat-players  at  the 
farther  end. 

Jim's  friends  had  gone,  but  he  remained 
behind,  in  gloomy  self-commiseration,  his 
shoulders  propped  against  the  partition 
which  marked  off  the  cigar  stand.  He  was 
thinking  over  his  troubles,  which  was  his  com- 
monest way  of  handling  them. 

Whoever  it  was  that  invented  the  saying, 
"Life  is  just  one  damned  thing  after  an- 
other " — he  knew,  he  knew.  Jim  had  bought 
three  or  four  post-cards  variously  framing 
the  sentiment  and  placed  them  upon  his 
bureau,  side  by  side,  for  Georgia  to  see.  It 
was  his  criticism  of  life. 

You  politicians  and  publicists,  if  you  want 
to  know  what  the  public  wants,  linger  at  the 
rack  in  your  corner  drug  store  and  look  over 
the  saws  and  sayings  on  the  post-cards. 

Jim  hoped  that  the  ones  he  had  picked  out 
would  subtly  convey  to  his  wife  that  all  were 

17 


Rebellion 

adrift  together  upon  a  most  perplexing 
journey  and  that  it  ill-behooved  any  of  them 
to — well  there  was  a  post-card  poem  that  just 
about  hit  it  off — and  he  put  it  on  the  bureau 
with  the  others : 

' ;  THERE  is  so  MUCH  BAD  IN  THE  BEST  or  us 
AND  so  MUCH  GOOD  IN  THE  WORST  OF  us, 
THAT  IT  HARDLY  BEHOOVES  ANY  OF  us 

TO  TALK  ABOUT  THE  REST  OF  US." 

But  she  hadn't  taken  the  least  notice.  She 
didn't  seem  to  understand  him  at  all.  Oh, 
well — women  were  light  creatures  of  clothes 
and  moods  and  two-edged  swords  for  tongues 
— or  deadly  silence.  What  could  -they  know 
about  the  deep  springs  of  life — about  how  a 
man  felt  when  in  trouble? 

Jim  shifted  his  position  slightly,  for  the 
hinge  was  beginning  to  trouble  his  shoulder 
blade,  and  fetched  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a 
moan.  Such  had  been  his  life,  merely  that, 
and  the  future  looked  as  bad  or  worse.  The 
shilling  bar  grew  a  bit  misty  before  him  and 
he  knew  it  wouldn't  take  much  to  make  his 
eyes  run  over. 

"Anything    wrong,    Jim?"    inquired    the 
sympathetic  bartender. 
18 


Jim  Connor 

i ' Just  a  little  blue  to-night,  Jack,  that's 
all." 

"Sometimes  I  get  into  those  spells  myself. 
Hell,  ain't  they?" 

Jim  nodded.  "I  suppose  they  come  from 
nervousness." 

The  bartender  nodded  back.  "Or  liver," 
said  he,  setting  out  the  red  bottle.  "Have 
a  smile." 

"No,  I  don't  want  any  more  of  that 
damned  stuff.  A  man's  a  fool  to  let  it  get 
away  with  him,  and  sometimes  I  figure  I  bet- 
ter watch  out — not  but  what  I  can't  control 
myself,  y 'under stand."  There  was  the  slight- 
est interrogation  in  his  tone. 

"Sure  y'can,  Jim;  I  know  that.  Still," 
dubiously,  "like  you  say,  a  fellow  ought  to 
watch  out.  It'll  land  the  K.  0.  on  the  stoutest 
lad  in  shoes,  if  he  keeps  a-fightin'  it." 

"It's  for  use  and  not  abuse.  Ain't  I 
right?" 

The  bartender  conspicuously  helped  him- 
self to  a  swallow  of  lithia.  "Yep,  sure,"  he 
said.  "D'you  know,  Jim,  I'm  kind  of  sorry 
you  didn't  go  home  to  supper  to-night." 

"So'm  I,  but  I  got  to  talking " 

"Why  don't  you  go  now?" 

19 


Rebellion 

"Too  blue,  Jack,  and  home  is  fierce  when 
I  get  there  with  a  breath." 

"Bemember  the  time  the  little  woman  come 
here  after  you?" 

"Oh,  it's  no  use  bringing  that  up  now," 
said  Jim  sadly.  "She  liked  me  then.  Give 
me  a  ginger  ale." 

Jim  took  his  glass  and  sat  alone  at  a  round 
table  by  the  wall,  under  the  painting  of  Pasi- 
phae  and  The  Shower  of  Gold.  This  saloon, 
like  many  others,  in  Chicago,  ran  to  classical 
subjects. 

Jim  relit  his  cigar  and  slowly  turned  the 
pages  of  a  Fliegende  Blatter,  looking  at  the 
pictures  and  habitually  picking  out  those  let- 
ters in  the  text  which  resembled  English  let- 
ters. It  was  a  frayed  copy  which  had  in- 
habited the  saloon  for  many  months,  and 
showed  it.  Jim  had  thumbed  it  twenty  times 
before,  but  he  was  doing  it  again  to  appease 
his  subconsciousness,  to  give  himself  the  ap- 
pearance of  activity  of  some  sort. 

But  he  was  looking  through  the  German 
pages  to  the  years  behind  him.  Politics — 
maybe  that  was  the  trouble.  Politicians,  at 
least  little  fellows  like  him,  got  more  feathers 
than  chicken  out  of  it.  If  he  hadn't  quit  that 

20 


Jim  Connor 

job  with  the  railroad — but  no,  they  were 
drivers,  and  there  was  no  future  in  the  rail- 
road business  for  a  fellow  like  him,  a  book- 
keeper. He  might  have  stayed  there  all  his 
life  and  not  thirty  men  in  the  entire  offices 
have  been  the  wiser,  or  have  ever  heard  of 
him. 

In  fact,  he  had  bettered  himself  by  going 
with  the  publishing  firm.  He  seemed  to  have 
prospects  there.  It  wasn't  his  fault  they  blew 
up  and  he  was  out  on  the  street  again. 
That  was  how  he  got  into  politics — sort  of 
drifted  in  after  meeting  the  big  fellow  can- 
vassing the  saloons  one  night,  when  he,  Jim, 
had  nothing  else  to  do. 

The  big  fellow  was  so  attractive,  so  sure  of 
himself,  and  Jim  would  have  seemed  a  fool  if 
he  had  refused  the  offer  to  clerk  in  an  elec- 
tion precinct  that  fall.  There  was  a  little 
money  in  it,  and  a  little  importance. 

The  big  fellow  had  asked  him  to  please  see 
what  he  could  do  for  the  ticket  that  fall, 
and  of  course  he  had.  It  was  agreeable  to  be 
consulted  by  the  famous  Ed  Miles  about 
plans  and  all  that.  He  had  never  been  con- 
sulted in  the  railroad  office,  or  even  by  those 
publishers. 

21 


Rebellion 

After  election,  without  solicitation,  Miles 
had  Jim  appointed  a  deputy  sheriff  for  the 
State  of  Illinois,  County  of  Cook,  ss.  Of 
course,  he  took  it.  There  was  nothing  else  in 
sight  just  then.  The  pay  was  fair,  the  hours 
good,  and  besides,  there  was  no  time-clock 
to  punch  and  no  superintendent  always  hov- 
ering about. 

After  a  time  the  big  fellow  told  Jim 
pleasantly,  but  firmly,  that  his  job  had  to  be 
passed  around  to  some  of  the  other  boys,  and 
Jim  resigned.  But  the  big  fellow  let  it  be 
known  that  Jim  was  still  a  trusted  scout. 
That  was  an  asset.  The  landlord  knocked 
something  off  the  rent  of  his  flat,  the  street 
car  company  gave  him  a  book  of  tickets,  one 
of  the  bill-board  companies  sent  him  a  nice 
check  for  Christmas;  but  he  had  done  some 
rather  particular  work  for  them.  He  had  re- 
spectable charge  accounts  in  several  places 
and  wasn't  pressed. 

But,  after  all,  one  cannot  get  rich  on  that 
sort  of  thing;  so  when  the  child  died,  his 
wife  went  back  downtown  as  a  stenographer 
in  a  life  insurance  office.  She  had  been  a 
stenographer  before  their  marriage. 


22 


n 
ONE  FLESH 

The  short  swinging  doors  opened  briskly 
and  five  tall  men  entered  quietly.  Jim  tipped 
his  chair  forward  upon  its  four  legs.  The 
scat  game  delayed  itself. 

The  five  lined  up  at  the  bar.  "Beer,"  said 
the  one  with  the  boiled  shirt.  The  skillful 
bartender  drew  five  glasses  of  foam. 

Jim  sat  still  in  his  chair,  hesitating  to 
glance  even  obliquely  toward  the  proceedings. 
What  was  one  against  five? 

The  tall  man  with  the  boiled  shirt  pointed 
to  his  glass,  but  did  not  touch  it.  Nor  did 
any  of  his  companions  touch  theirs.  The 
saloon  knighthood  has  not  abandoned  symbol- 
ism. 

1  i Does  that  go?" 

"It  goes,  CoffeyNeal." 

"And  we  don't  get  a  lithograph  in  the  front 
window  ? ' ' 

23 


Rebellion 

"Ton  don't." 

The  five  men  withdrew  a  little  for  confer- 
ence. Then  Coffey  Neal  paid  his  reckoning 
with  a  quarter  and  a  nickel. 

The  bartender  rang  up  twenty-five  cents  on 
the  register.  Neal  pointed  to  the  five-cent 
piece  upon  the  bar. 

"That's  for  yourself,  Jack." 

The  sardonic  bartender  placed  it  between 
his  teeth.  "It's  phony,"  said  he.  "Take  it 
back  and  put  it  in  your  campaign  fund. ' '  He 
smiled,  keeping  his  right  hand  below  the  bar. 

"After  election,"  Coffey  Neal  remarked 
through  his  nose,  "your  old  man  (he  meant 
Jack's  father-in-law)  can't  sell  this  place  for 
the  fixtures  in  it." 

Jack  concealed  a  yawn  with  his  left  hand. 

"You're  the  twenty-second  wop  since  the 
first  of  the  year  was  going  to  put  us  out 
of  business,  and  we're  signing  a  lease  for  our 
new  place  next  Monday.  It's  where  your 
brother  used  to  be  located." 

One  of  the  enemy,  a  stocky  fellow  with  a 
brakeman's  black  shirt,  was  constructing 
sandwiches  of  sliced  bologna  and  rye  at  the 
lunch  counter. 

"I  know  you're  not  eating  much  lately,  old 

24 


One  Flesh 

boy,  since  you  begun  stringing  with  Coff  ey, ' ' 
smiled  Jack  from  the  corner  of  his  mouth, 
"but  those  is  for  our  customers.'' 

Blackshirt  turned  quickly  about,  sweeping 
the  pink  hemisphere  of  cheese  upon  the  floor 
and  shivering  it. 

"Oh,  dreadful  I"  he  protested,  falsetto. 
6 1  My  word,  how  sad ! ' ' 

He  trod  some  of  the  cheese  into  the  saw- 
dust. "Mr.  Barman,  ah,  Mr.  Barman,  you 
may  charge  the  damages  to  me — at  the  Black- 
stone." 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the 
others.  It  looked  like  rough-housing,  and 
damage  to  fixtures.  The  scat  players  had 
vanished,  in  their  naive  Teutonic  way, 
through  the  side  door.  Jack  began  to  hope 
he  wouldn't  have  to  draw,  for  a  shooting  al- 
ways black-eyes  a  saloon's  good  name  and 
quiet  scat  custom  shies  at  it. 

Neal  delivered  Jim  a  tremendous  thump  on 
the  shoulder.  "Why,  if  it  isn't  my  dear  old 
college  chump."  Another  thump.  "Maybe 
you  can  buy  us  a  drink  with  the  collar  off." 
A  third  thump. 

"Now,  can  the  comedy  stuff,  Coffey,"  Jim 
snarled,  smilingly.  If  only  he  could  steer 

25 


Rebellion 

Coffey  away  from  the  fight  he  seemed  bent 
on  picking.  '  '  I  '11  buy — sure.  Why  not  I ' ' 

"Then  you'll  go  across  the  street  to  do  it," 
Jack  inserted.  "This  ain't  a  barrel  house." 

Neal  seized  Jim's  ear  and  lifted  him  to  his 
feet.  "You'll  buy  here,  and  now."  Three  of 
the  men  gathered  about  Jim.  The  other 
two,  standing  well  apart,  were  watching  Jack. 
There  would  be  three  pistols  out,  or  none. 

Jim  was  being  slowly  propelled  to  the  bar, 
when  the  straw  doors  swung  briskly  and  the 
big  fellow  entered.  His  shoulders,  hands, 
legs  and  jaw  were  thick,  and  his  eyes  were 
amazingly  alert. 

Unspeakable  peace  spread  through  Jim. 
He  knew  that  somehow  or  other  the  big  fel- 
low was  going  to  get  him  out  of  this. 

Indeed,  that  was  what  the  boss  had  come 
for.  News  of  the  foray  on  this  citadel  of 
his  had  been  grapevined  to  him  up  the  block 
and  around  a  corner. 

He  sized  up  the  situation  very  quickly. 
There  was  Coffey  Neal,  the  trouble-maker, 
the  Judas  who  had  refused  to  take  his  orders 
any  longer.  He  was  the  one  to  be  done  for. 
The  other  four  were  merely  Hessians,  torsos, 
not  headpieces.  They  slugged  for  a  living, 

26 


One  Flesh 

on  either  side  of  industrial  disputes,  accord- 
ing to  the  price — sometimes  on  both  sides  in 
the  same  strike. 

"Have  a  drink,  boys,"  said  the  great  Ed 
Miles. 

It  surprised  every  man  in  the  room.  Jim's 
heart  sank  down  again.  Could  it  be  that  the 
big  fellow  was  going  to  take  water?  Then  it 
was  the  end  of  his  reign  and  the  end  of  Jim's 
days  at  court.  There  was  a  pause,  a  whis- 
pering. Ed,  standing  sidewise  to  the  bar, 
held  his  open  right  hand,  palm  upwards,  be- 
hind his  coat  so  that  only  Jack  could  see  it. 

'  '  And  what  if  we  wouldn  't  J  "  Coff  ey  spoke 
with  slow  bravado. 

"This."  The  big  fellow  flashed  at  him, 
and  dropped  the  bung-starter  heavily  behind 
his  ear.  Coffey  crumpled  upon  the  floor.  The 
sluggers  hesitated  half  a  second,  then  piled 
on  Ed  so  quickly  that  Jack  didn't  dare  use 
his  gun.  Instead,  he  ran  around  the  bar  and 
twisted  his  arm  under  the  chin  of  blackshirt, 
pulling  him  away  from  the  heap.  He  thrust 
him  up  in  the  air,  using  his  own  knee  for  a 
lever,  then  dropped  him  heavily  on  his  back 
on  the  floor  and  kicked  his  head.  There  was 
no  time  for  niceties. 

27 


Rebellion 

Meanwhile,  Jim  had  taken  futile  hold  of 
another  slugger's  foot,  who  easily  shook  him 
off.  He  was  cautiously  planning  for  another 
hold — very  cautiously  indeed,  not  being  anx- 
ious to  become  too  completely  immersed  in 
the  proceedings,  when  all  at  once  the  place 
became  full  of  people. 

Strong  and  willing  arms  eagerly  and  quick- 
ly unraveled  the  tangle. 

"This  is  a  hell  of  a  game  for  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evenin'."  It  was  the  bass  voice  of 
public  peace.  ' '  Oh ! ' '  concernedly,  *  *  is  it  you, 
Mr.  Miles  ?  Are  you  hurted  ? ' ' 

The  big  fellow  felt  his  shaven  skull  where, 
in  the  melee,  a  brass  knuckle  had  struck  him 
a  glancing  blow.  He  looked  at  his  red  fin- 
gers. "Just  a  scrape,  Sarje,  not  cracked," 
he  laughed. 

"What's  the  charge!"  asked  the  detective 
sergeant,  solicitously. 

"Tell  'em  the  facts,"  enjoined  the  big 
fellow. 

1  i  Well, ' '  began  the  efficient  bartender, '  l  Mr. 
Miles  and  me  was  talking  quietly  together 
here;  he  was  standing  just  there  with  his 
back  to  the  door,  and  I  heard  an  awful  yell- 
ing going  up  and  down  in  the  street.  I  knew 

28 


One  Flesh 

it  was  Coffey  Neal,  hunting  trouble,  and 
drunk.  They  come  in  the  cigar  stand,  swear- 
ing and  cursing,  saying  they  were  looking 
for  Ed  Miles — to  cut  his  heart  out.  But  Ed 
says  to  me  he  didn't  want  any  trouble  in  the 
place,  so's  he'd  walk  out,  and  he  started  out 
the  side  door,  when  Coffey  and  this  black- 
shirt  fellow  come  running  in  and  threw  that 
bowl  of  cheese  at  him  —  see  it  there  —  and 
jumped  him.  Then  these  other  bad  actors 
began  kicking  him,  too,  and  I  went  in  to 
separate  'em — and  I  guess  that's  all.  Lucky 
you  came  in  or  there  might  have  been 
trouble." 

"What  charge  will  I  put  agin  'em?" 

"Drunk  and  disorderly;  assault;  assault 
and  battery ;  assault  with  intent  to  kill ;  un- 
provoked assault;  mayhem;  assault  with  a 
deadly  weapon — and  I  guess  they  ain't  got 
no  visible  means  of  support,"  suggested  the 
big  fellow.  "  Oh !  yes,  and  conspiracy. ' ' 

' '  Let  it  go  at  that, ' '  said  Jack. 

The  sergeant  wrote  it  down.  The  sluggers 
were  silent.  The  case  had  become  one  for 
lawyers'  fees.  Their  own  talking  couldn't 
do  any  good. 

"Any  witnesses?"  asked  the  sergeant. 

29 


Rebellion 

"Me,"  said  Jim.  "It  was  the  way  Jack 
says." 

"Put  'em  in  the  wagon,"  commanded  law 
and  order. 

Coffey  Neal  was  picking  up  his  threads 
again  at  the  place  he  had  dropped  them. 

"And  what  if  we  won't  drink  with  you, 
Ed  Miles?"  he  muttered,  somewhat  scattered. 

"Likely  the  Bridewell,  Coffey,"  laughed 
the  big  fellow. 

The  vanquished  were  escorted  out  into  the 
night. 

The  victor  and  his  vassals,  perhaps  a  dozen 
of  them  by  this  time,  remained  in  possession 
of  the  field. 

"Good  thing  I  had  those  coppers  planted 
before  I  started  anything,"  commented  the 
big  fellow.  "Those  strong-arm  guys  like  to 
got  me  going  at  the  end." 

"They  certainly  handled  themselves  very 
useful,"  Jack  acknowledged. 

"They  gotta  be  with  us  after  this,  or  get 
out  of  town."  The  big  fellow  turned  sud- 
denly on  Jim.  "And  you,  you  yellow  pup," 
he  roared,  seizing  him  by  the  collar,  "what 
were  you  doing  while  they  was  pounding  me 
up!  D'you  think  you  were  at  a  ball  game, 

30 


One  Flesh 

hey?"  He  shook  him  back  and  forth  until 
his  jaws  cracked. 

"I — I  was  trying — I  got  one  of  'em  by  the 
leg,  and  he " 

4 'Yes,  like  you'd  pick  flowers  in  the  spring 
—  sweet  and  pretty  —  that's  the  way  you 
grabbed  his  leg."  He  lifted  Jim  from  the 
ground  and  flung  him  on  the  floor.  "Yel- 
low pup !"  he  repeated  passionately,  over  and 
over  again. 

Jim  raised  himself  to  his  elbow,  but  did  not 
dare  to  go  further.  The  big  fellow's  eyes 
were  still  blazing. 

"Honest,  Ed,  I  was  trying  to  help." 

Miles  took  a  step  toward  him.  "You're  a 
G— d  d— d  liar!"  he  shouted. 

Jim  tried  to  meet  his  look.  It  was  a 
wretched  business  to  be  called  that  name  be- 
fore a  dozen  others — it  had  happened  to  him 
before,  but  he  always  hated  it.  Still  the  big 
fellow  seemed  especially  vicious  and  danger- 
ous just  now ;  Jim  knew  how  senseless  it  was 
to  cross  him  when  he  was  having  one  of  his 
spells,  and  besides,  they  never  lasted  long, 
anyway.  Jim  dropped  his  eyes  again,  ac- 
knowledging the  justice  of  the  discipline. 

Miles  threw  a  ten-dollar  bill  on  the  bar  and 

31 


Rebellion 

broke  the  tension  with  a  jolly  laugh.  "Well, 
I  guess  we've  put  Coffey  Neal  out  o'  this 
primary, ' '  said  he.  '  '  Plunge  in,  lads. ' '  Jack 
served  each  man,  but  nothing  for  Jim.  The 
code  provided  for  a  final  display  of  mag- 
nanimity by  the  f  ountainhead.  '  '  Come  ahead, 
Jim,"  he  growled,  kindly. 

Serenity  unfolded  again  her  frightened 
wings  and  the  smoke  of  peace  increased  and 
multiplied  over  a  leader  fitted  to  lead  and 
followers  fitted  to  follow. 

The  ensuing  celebration  spread  itself  over 
many  hours  and  into  many  taverns.  There 
was  some  agreeable  close  harmony,  to  which 
Jim  joined  a  pleasant  baritone,  and  much 
revilement  of  all  double-crossers,  from  Judas 
and  Benedict  Arnold  down  to  Coffey  Neal, 
and  a  certain  Irish  party  whose  name  now 
escapes  me,  but  who  grievously  misbehaved 
himself  during  a  Fenian  incident. 

Very  frequently  they  reached  the  shank  of 
the  evening — as  often,  indeed,  as  anybody 
wanted  to  go  home.  And  in  the  big  fellow's 
mouth  the  shank  was  ever  a  cogent  argument. 

Eventually  the  ultimate  question  as  to  their 
further  destination  was  put,  and  here  the  big 
fellow  stood  aside,  permitting  perfect  lati- 

32 


One  Flesh 

tude  of  decision.  He  was  a  politician  and  he 
knew  that  he  could  not  possibly  afford  to  have 
it  said  by  the  wives  of  the  ward  that  he  influ- 
enced their  husbands  toward  sin.  He  could 
afford  to  have  almost  everything  else  said 
about  him,  but  not  that. 

Jim  wavered,  then  resisted  temptation.  His 
record  in  that  particular  respect  had  been 
almost  absolutely  clean. 

He  walked  home  stiffly,  fighting  with  the 
skill  of  the  practiced  alcoholic  for  the  upright 
position  and  the  shortest  distance  between 
two  points. 

His  early  morbidity  had  vanished.  If  he 
had  done  one  thing  badly  that  evening,  he 
had  done  another  thing  well.  Whatever  his 
wife,  Georgia,  might  urge  against  him  in  re- 
gard to  his  conviviality,  wasn't  he,  after  all, 
one  of  the  most  faithful  husbands  he  knew? 
For  all  her  superior  airs,  she  had  much  to 
be  grateful  for  in  him. 

He  entered  his  flat  with  little  scraping  of 
the  keyhole,  and  cautiously  undressed  in  the 
front  room.  It  was  late — much  later  than  he 
had  hoped  for.  He  could  just  make  out  the 
hands  of  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  by  the 
light  from  the  street  lamp. 

33 


Rebellion 

He  opened  the  door  to  their  bedroom  so 
slowly,  so  slowly  and  steadily,  and  then — as 
usual,  that  cursed  hinge  betrayed  him.  The 
number  of  times  he  had  determined  to  oil  it — 
yet  he  always  forgot  to.  To-morrow  he 
wouldn't  forget — that  was  his  flaming  pur- 
pose. 

Psychological  flux  and  flow  may  be  deduced 
from  door  hinges  as  well  as  from  the  second 
cup  of  coffee  for  breakfast  or  the  plaintive 
lady  standing  immediately  before  your  hard- 
won  seat  in  the  street  car.  Jim  would  never 
oil  the  hinge  in  the  morning,  because  that 
would  somehow  imply  he  expected  to  come  in 
very  late  again  at  night,  and  he  never  ex- 
pected to — in  the  morning. 

But  her  breathing  remained  regular,  abso- 
lutely regular;  he  had  this  time  escaped  the 
snare  of  the  hinge. 

The  gas  jet  burned  in  a  tiny  flame.  She 
had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  keeping  a  night- 
light  during  the  past  three  or  four  years.  At 
first  he  had  objected  that  it  interfered  with 
his  sleep,  but  she  had  been  singularly  per- 
sistent about  it.  She  hadn't  given  him  her 
reasons;  indeed,  she  had  never  analyzed 
them.  It  was  nothing  but  a  bit  of  prepos- 

34 


One  Flesh 

terous  feminism,  which  she  kept  to  herself^ 
that  the  light  made  a  third  in  their  room. 

She  lay  with  her  back  to  him,  far  over  on 
her  side  of  the  bed.  He  could  see  where  her 
hip  rose,  and  vaguely  through  the  covering 
the  outline  of  her  limbs.  Her  shoulders  were 
crumpled  forward,  and  the  upper  one  re- 
sponded to  her  breathing,  and  marked  it. 
Under  her  arm,  crossed  in  front  of  her,  he 
knew  was  the  swelling  of  her  breast. 

And  then  at  the  neck  was  the  place  where 
the  hair  was  parted  and  braided,  the  braids 
wound  forward  about  her  eyes — a  very  pecul- 
iar way  to  treat  one's  hair. 

What  a  different  thing  a  woman  was !  He 
had  seen  her  lying  so  countless  times,  and  yet 
the  strangeness  had  never  worn  off.  Indeed, 
curiously  enough,  there  seemed  even  more  of 
it  now  than  when  they  had  just  married,  and 
she  was  entirely  new. 

He  often  thought  a  woman  didn't  seem  ex- 
actly a  person — that  is,  not  like  him,  and  he 
was  certainly  a  person — but  something  else; 
just  as  good,  perhaps,  but  quite  other.  Her 
body,  of  course — well,  agreeable  as  it  might 
be,  still  he  was  glad  he  wasn't  made  that 
way,  for  it  seemed  so  ineffective. 

35 


Rebellion 

And  one  of  them  could  stand  a  good  man  on 
his  head.  He  simply  couldn't  get  the  hang 
of  that.  If  a  man  was  angry  and  sulked, 
he  didn't  mind.  In  fact,  he  preferred  it  to 
being  knocked  about  as  the  big  fellow  some- 
times did  to  him.  He  had  never  cared  what 
man  sulked,  his  brother  or  father  or  any  of 
them. 

And  yet  this  woman,  she he  looked  at 

her  intently,  earnestly,  as  if  finally  to  solve 
her — she  was  very  beautiful.  And  she  was 
his  wife. 

He  crept  into  bed,  very  softly,  for  she 
might  wake  up.  But  then,  it  briefly  occurred 
to  him,  what  if  she  did!  He  was  perfectly 
sober — at  least  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 
He  could  talk  perfectly  straight ;  he  felt  sure 
of  that. 

Perhaps  she  would  now  wake  of  her  own 
accord.  That  would  be  the  best  solution,  and 
then  he  could  appear  drowsy,  as  if  he,  too, 
had  just  been  aroused  from  sleep. 

He  sighed  loudly  and  turned  himself  over 
in  the  bed,  but  she  gave  no  sign. 

"Georgia,"  he  whispered  very  low. 

Pause. 


One  Flesh 

" Georgia, "  a  little  louder,  "are  you 
awake?" 

No  answer. 

He  touched  her,  as  if  carelessly.  She 
stirred.  Ah,  she  would — no,  her  breathing 
was  markedly  the  breathing  of  slumber.  Per- 
haps she  was  pretending.  Oh,  well,  what  was 
the  use  of  his  trying,  if  she  was  going  to 
act  so? 

He  turned  noisily  back  to  his  side  of  the 
bed.  He  was  disappointed  in  her.  Was  it 
fair  of  her  to  pretend — if  she  was  pretend- 
ing 1  After  all,  she  was  his  wife. 

A  husband  has  his  rights.  That  was  what 
the  church  said.  Otherwise,  what  was  the 
use  of  getting  married  and  supporting  a 
woman  —  well,  most  men  supported  their 
wives,  and  he  intended  to  do  so  again  soon, 
very  soon. 

Yes,  he  had  the  teachings  on  his  side.  He 
wanted  nothing  beyond  the  bond.  It  was  holy 
wedlock,  wasn't  it? 

He  placed  his  hand  upon  her  waist.  And 
yet  she  would  give  no  sign.  More  resolutely 
than  before  she  counterfeited  the  present- 
ment of  sleep. 

'  *  Georgia ! "  he  spoke  aloud. 

37 


Rebellion 

"What  is  it?"  she  said,  quickly,  sitting  up, 
her  black  braids  falling  back  on  her  slim 
shoulders. 

"I  just  wanted  to  say  good  night,"  he  mut- 
tered, huskily. 

"Good  night,"  she  answered,  curtly. 
"Please  don't  disturb  me  again.  I  am  veiy 
tired." 

She  was  turning  from  him,  when  he  placed 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

' '  Georgia,  I  love  you.    You  know  I  do. " 

The  foulness  of  his  poisoned  breath  filled 
her  with  loathing. 

'  '  No,  Jim, ' '  she  gasped,  afraid.    "  Oh,  no ! " 

"Georgia,  you  dunno  how  I  love  you,"  he 
pleaded,  almost  tearfully,  taking  her  in  his 
arms. 

Quickly  she  jumped  from  the  bed.  "Where 
are  you  going?"  asked  the  annoyed  husband. 

"I  can't  sleep  here,  Jim;  I  can't."  She 
took  up  her  underskirt  and  her  thin  flan- 
nel dressing  sack  and  passed  from  the  room. 
She  made  her  couch  on  the  lounge  in  the 
front  room  and  after  a  time  fell  asleep. 

Jim  twitched  with  nightmare  throughout 
the  night,  and  long  after  she  had  gone  down- 
town in  the  morning. 

38 


in 
AN  ECONOMIC  UNIT 

Georgia's  desk  was  in  a  rectangular  room 
which  was  over  one  hundred  feet  long  and 
half  as  wide.  There  was  light  on  three  sides. 
Near  the  ceiling  was  a  series  of  little  grat- 
ings, each  with  a  small  silkoline  American 
flag  in  front  of  it.  These  flags  were  constantly 
fluttering,  indicating  forced  ventilation;  so 
that  although  the  desks  were  near  together 
and  the  place  contained  its  full  complement 
of  busy  people,  there  was  plenty  of  oxygen 
for  them. 

This  arrangement  was  designed  primarily 
for  economic  rather  than  philanthropic  pur- 
poses. The  increased  average  output  of 
work  due  to  the  fresh  air  yielded  a  satisfac- 
tory interest  on  the  cost  of  the  ventilating 
apparatus;  and,  besides,  it  impressed  cus- 
tomers favorably  and  had  a  tendency  to  hold 
employes.  The  office  dealt  in  life  insurance. 

39 


Rebellion 

The  desks  were  mounted  on  castors  so 
that  they  could  be  wheeled  out  of  the  way 
at  night  while  the  tiled  floor  was  being  washed 
down  with  hose  and  long-handled  mops  and 
brooms  and  sometimes  sand,  as  sailors  holy- 
stone a  deck.  Much  of  the  hands-and-knees 
scrubbing  was  in  this  way  done  away  with. 

Eubber  disks  hinged  against  the  desks  and 
set  to  the  floor  held  them  in  place  during 
working  hours.  Narrow  black  right-angular 
marks  showed  where  each  desk  belonged  and 
to  what  point,  exactly,  it  must  be  moved  back 
when  the  nightly  cleaning  was  finished. 

These  details  were  all  of  profound  interest 
to  Georgia,  for  her  desk  was  the  most  impor- 
tant thing  in  the  world  to  her  at  this  time  in 
her  life. 

She  delighted  in  neatness,  order,  precision, 
in  the  adjustment  of  the  means  to  the  end. 
Every  morning  just  before  nine,  she  punched 
the  clock,  which  gave  her  a  professional  feel- 
ing; and  hung  her  hat  and  jacket  in  locker  31, 
which  seemed  to  her  a  better,  a  more  self- 
respecting  place  for  them  to  be  than  her 
small,  untidy  bedroom  closet,  all  littered  up 
with  so  many  things — hers  and  Jim's. 

Her  mother,  who  kept  house  for  them,  was 

40 


An  Economic  Unit 

a  good  deal  at  loose  ends,  in  Georgia's  opin- 
ion. And  it  didn't  seem  quite  the  decent  thing 
that  a  woman  who  had  nothing  else  in  the 
world  to  do  should  fail  to  keep  a  six-room 
flat  in  order.  Of  course  her  mother  was  get- 
ting a  little  old,  but  hardly  too  old  to  do  that. 

Georgia  had  lately  had  a  trial  promotion  to 
"take"  the  general  agent's  letters — the  pre- 
vious functionary,  a  tall  blonde  girl,  having 
married  very  well. 

It  was  the  first  stenographic  position  in 
the  office  and  carried  the  best  salary,  so  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  human  jealousy  about  it — 
much  the  same  sort  as  freshmen  feel  who 
are  out  for  the  class  eleven. 

Georgia  had  tried  her  hardest  for  five 
days.  She  had  stayed  overtime  to  rewrite 
whole  pages  for  the  sake  of  a  single  omitted 
letter;  she  had  bought  half  a  dozen  severely 
plain  shirt  waists,  and  yielded  up  her  puffs. 
Everyone  knew  how  the  old  man  hated  the 
first  sign  of  nonsense. 

But  in  spite  of  all  that  the  day  before  he 
had  called  in  Miss  Gerson  to  take  his  dicta- 
tion. 

Well — it  was  pretty  hard,  but  she  had  done 
her  best.  And  she  was  a  better  workman  than 

41 


Rebellion 

Miss  Gerson,  she  would  stick  to  that.  Only 
yesterday  she  had  seen  Miss  G.  twice  hunt- 
ing in  a  pocket  dictionary  hidden  in  her 
lap — and  she  never  had  to  do  that,  prac- 
tically. 

Life  was  just  one  damn  thing  after  another, 
as  Jim  was  always  complaining — only  he 
could  never  possibly  have  apprehended  the 
full  truth  and  implication  of  that  saying — in 
spite  of  its  rather  common  way  of  putting  it. 
She  knew  that  he  never  saw  deeply,  really 
fundamentally  into  the  dreadful  mystery  of 
being  here ;  he  couldn't  for  he  was  coarse  and 
masculine  and  he  drank. 

Her  fingers  were  working  rapidly  casting 
up  purple  letter  after  purple  letter  before 
her  eyes,  but  the  physiologists  tell  us  that  she 
was  using  only  the  front  part  of  her  brain 
for  it.  The  rest  of  it  was  free  to  contemplate 
the  Ultimate  Purpose,  or  gross  favoritism  in 
the  office  especially  in  relation  to  Miss  Ger- 
son, or  whether  an  ice  cream  soda  was  a  silly 
thing  to  have  before  lunch,  as  she  knew  it 
was,  but  then  one  had  to  have  some  pleasure. 

Eat-tat-tat-tat  went  the  keys;  ding,  there 
was  her  bell.  Ten  letters  more  on  this  line 
said  the  front  part  of  her  brain.  One  thing 

42 


An  Economic  Unit 

she  was  sure  of,  said  the  back,  she  devoutly 
hoped  her  young  brother  Al  wouldn't  develop 
into  a  mere  white-collared  clerk — though  of 
course  she  certainly  wanted  him  to  be  always 
a  gentleman.  She  slid  her  carriage  for  the 
new  line. 

Eat-tat-tat-tat — and  again,  ding.  There, 
the  end  of  the  page.  Single  space  and  not  an 
error.  She  would  like  to  see  Miss  Gerson  do 
that  at  her  speed. 

The  shuffle  of  the  old  man's  office  boy 
sounded  behind  her.  Now,  wait — what  would 
to-day's  verdict  be?  Would  he  pass  or  stop! 

"Miss  Connor,"  a-a-ah — "the  old  man 
wants  you  to  take  some  letters."  (Georgia 
had  let  them  suppose  she  was  unmarried.) 

The  benison  of  perfect  peace  now  enfolded 
her. 

Poor  little  Miss  Gerson — well,  after  all,  life 
is  a  game,  the  loser  pays,  and  the  winner  can 
be  perfectly  philosophical  about  it. 

Georgia  went  to  the  old  man's  private  office 
and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"Yes,  sir."  She  stood  at  attention,  pad  and 
pencil  ready. 

"Will  you  take  these  please,  Miss  Connor? 
Mr.  James  Serviss — here's  his  address,"  the 

43 


Rebellion 

old  man  tossed  the  letter  he  was  answering 
over  to  her.  "Dear  Sir:  Eeplying  to  yours 

of  the  16th  inst.,  we  regret  that .  Well, 

tell  him  it's  impossible.  Write  the  letter 
yourself.  You  understand?"  He  was  observ- 
ing her  as  if  to  probe  her  resourcefulness. 

"Perfectly,  sir." 

"Miss  Belmont  saved  me  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  in  that  way.  She  could  tell  what  I 
would  want  to  say."  Miss  Belmont  was  the 
blonde  girl  who  had  married  and  left  a  va- 
cancy. 

' 1 1  can  do  the  same,  sir. ' ' 

"Well,  here  are  some  more,"  continued  the 
old  man.  "This — No."  He  tossed  another 
letter  to  her.  She  made  a  shorthand  nota- 
tion in  the  corner  of  it.  ' i  This — By  all  means, 
— and  be  polite  about  it.  This — An  appoint- 
ment to-morrow  afternoon." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"This — Eoutine.  And  these — Send  them 
to  the  proper  departments."  More  notations. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  can  start  on  those.  Bring  them  in 
when  they're  ready." 

"Yes,  sir."  Exit  Georgia. 

She  summoned  the  deeper  layers  of  her 

44 


An  Economic  Unit 

vitality,  settled  to  her  work  and  her  fingers 
flew.  She  knew  the  joy — if  joy  it  be — of  crea- 
tion. 

Quietly  she  slipped  back  into  the  old  man's 
office,  without  knocking.  His  secretary  had 
entrance  except  at  such  times  as  he  shut  his 
telephone  off. 

She  seemed  very  slim  and  neat,  and  calm 
and  steady — almost  prim,  perhaps,  as  she 
stood  with  pen  and  blotter  in  her  hand  to 
take  the  old  man's  signatures. 

But  her  being  surged  within  her  like  that 
of  a  mother  who  waits  to  hear  if  her  boy  is 
to  be  expelled  from  school  or  forgiven. 

The  old  man  had  been  going  over  a  cam- 
paign plan  for  business  with  one  of  his  quick- 
est witted  solicitors,  and  after  Georgia  had 
waited  standing  for  a  few  moments,  dis- 
missed him  with,  "Yes,  that's  the  right  line, 
Stevens.  Just  keep  plugging  along  it. ' ' 

As  Stevens  passed  her  on  his  way  out  he 
bowed  slightly.  He  had  been  doing  that  for 
some  time  now,  though  he  had  not  yet  spoken 
to  her. 

Stevens  was  still  under  thirty,  she  con- 
cluded, though  she  had  heard  he  had  been 
with  the  company  for  ten  years.  A  silent, 

45 


Rebellion 

sharp-featured,  tall  young  fellow  with  chilly 
blue  eyes,  who  had  the  name  in  the  office  of 
keeping  himself  to  himself  and  being  all 
business. 

The  old  man,  having  glanced  over  and 
signed  the  letters,  passed  his  verdict  on  her 
work — "Hmm,  hmm,  Miss  Connor,  you  may 
move  your  things  to  Miss  Belmont's  desk. 
And  here's  a  note " 

When  an  author  conquers  a  stage  man- 
ager; or  Atchison  rises  4%  the  very  next 
day;  or  the  Cubs  bat  it  out  in  the  tenth  on  a 
darkening  September  afternoon ;  when  on  the 
third  and  last  trial,  it's  a  boy;  or  when  Hand- 
some Harry  Matinee  returns  you  his  curled 
likeness  signed;  or  you  first  sip  Mai  Wein, 
you  know  what  it  is  to  move  your  things  to 
Miss  Belmont's  desk. 

"And  here's  a  note,"  continued  the  old 
man,  without  the  gap  which  we  have  made  to 
put  in  analogues,  "to  Mr.  Edward  Miles — 
I'd  better  dictate  this  one  myself — 'Dear 
Mr.  Miles:  I  should  be  happy  to  have  you 
call — '  No,  strike  that  out.  'In  response  to 
your  letter  of  even  date,  I  should  be  glad  to 
see  you  at  any  time  that  suits  you,  here  in  my 
office—  '  no,  make  it  three  o'clock  to-morrow 

46 


An  Economic  Unit 

afternoon — Ho  confer  over  the  subject  of  the 
Senatorial  campaign  in  your  district.'  Eead 
what  you've  got." 

Georgia  did  so. 

The  old  man  changed  his  eyeglasses. 
" Maybe  you'd  better  telephone  him  instead," 
he  said.  "It's  Ed  Miles,  the  politician.  You 
can  probably  locate  him  at— 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know,"  suggested  Georgia. 

"And  get  Mr.  Sorners  on  the  phone — Mr. 
Somers  does  some  of  our  legal  work— 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  ask  him  to  be  here  at  the  same  time. 
Make  a  note  of  it  on  my  list  of  appoint- 
ments." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Tell  him  Miles  is  coming,  and  to  get  up  a 
little  resume  for  me  of  the  situation  in  those 
districts  over  there,  and  ah — perhaps  an 
estimate  in  a  general  way  of  what  we  ought 
to  do  for,  ah — Mr.  Miles.  You  will  indicate 
that  to  him." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  telephone  him  that."  Georgia  rose 
and  went  to  the  door.  "Ah — Miss  Connor 
"  She  turned  and  looked  at  her  em- 
ployer, her  head  tilted  forward,  with  a 

47 


Rebellion 

peculiar  open-eyed,  steady  little  stare,  which 
was  a  trick  of  hers  when  wholly  interested. 

"Did  I  indicate  to  you,"  said  he,  "that  you 
are  my  private  secretary  now?" 

"I  understand,  sir.    Thank  you." 


48 


IV 

THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE 

Each  morning  as  Georgia  entered  the  ele- 
vated train  and  spread  open  her  paper,  she 
cast  off  the  centuries,  being  transformed 
from  a  housewife  to  a  "  modern  economic 
unit." 

She  smiled  at  the  morning  cartoon  or 
perhaps,  in  the  celebrated  phrase  of  Dr. 
Hackett,  she  sighed  softly  for  the  sake  of  its 
meticulous  futility.  Her  penny  to  the  news 
stand  gave  her  full  and  free  franchise  upon 
the  ever  anxious  question  of  the  popularity 
of  popular  art.  Other  Georgias  of  Chicago 
were  simultaneously  passing  like  judgments 
in  like  elevated  cars  and  the  sum  of  their 
verdicts  would  ultimately  readjust  social  dis- 
tinctions in  Cook  and  Lake  counties,  Illinois. 

She  always  turned  to  the  Insurance  Notes 
next.  It  was  her  Duty  to  be  Well-informed 
and  Interested  in  the  Success  of  Her  Em- 
ployer, for  His  Success  was  Hers.  She  hadn't 

49 


Rebellion 

been  to  business  college  for  eight  weeks  not 
to  know  that. 

Next  a  peek  at  Marion  Jean  Delorme's 
column  of  heart  throbs,  which  she  frankly  re- 
garded as  dissipation,  because  she  enjoyed 
it,  and  everybody  who  read  it  called  it 
common. 

By  this  time,  home  and  its  squabbling;  its 
everlasting  question  of  how  far  a  pay  envel- 
ope can  stretch;  her  sullen  contemplation  of 
Jim's  alcoholism;  and  irritability  at  her 
mother's  pottering  way  had  vanished  into 
the  background  of  her  mind,  where  they  slept 
through  her  working  day. 

She  engaged  herself  with  more  appealing 
problems  and  a  larger  world.  She  deplored 
the  litter  of  torn-up  streets  and  the  thunder 
of  the  loop,  instead  of  the  litter  of  the  break- 
fast dishes  and  the  squeak  of  the  hinge.  Not 
that  clean  dishes  are  less  meritorious  than 
clean  streets,  but,  to  such  minds  as  hers  had 
grown  to  be,  less  captivating.  To  change 
desks  downtown  was  more  fun  than  to  change 
chairs  at  home. 

She  felt  her  solidarity  with  the  other 
people  who  streamed  into  the  business  dis- 
trict at  eight  forty-five,  to  get  money  by  writ- 

50 


The  Head  of  the  House 

ing  or  talking.  It  was  the  master's  end  of 
the  game  and  she  belonged  to  it.  Outside-the- 
loop  worked  with  its  arms  and  hands — she 
worked  merely  with  her  fingers.  The  time 
might  come  when  she  would  need  to  work 
only  with  her  tongue — and  triple  her  income. 
She  was  in  line  for  that. 

She  was  no  mean  citizen  of  no  mean  city 
throughout  the  day :  at  the  lunch  club  where 
she  cooperated;  in  the  big  white-tiled  vesti- 
bule of  her  building  where  she  exchanged  ten 
words  of  weather  prophecy  with  the  elevator 
starter  between  clicks ;  in  the  rest  room  where 
they  talked  office  politics,  and  shows,  and 
woman  suffrage,  as  well  as  beaux  and  hats; 
behind  her  machine  which  rattled  "twenty 
dollars  a  week  by  your  own  ten  fingers  and 
no  man's  gratuity." 

There  were  no  oaths,  no  bonds  unbreakable, 
no  church  to  tell  her  she  couldn't  change  her 
job,  as  it  tells  the  housed  and  covered  women 
who  get  their  bread  by  wif ehood. 

If  she  didn't  like  the  temperature  of  the 
room,  or  the  size  of  her  employer's  ears,  she 
could  walk  across  the  street  and  do  as  well — 
perhaps  better. 

If  he  had  sworn  at  her,  or  come  ugly  drunk 

51 


Rebellion 

into  her  presence — but  that  was  inconceiv- 
able. Employers  didn't  do  that,  only  hus- 
bands, because  they  knew  they  had  you. 

It  was  the  full  life  and  the  free  life  which 
she  lived,  she  and  her  sisters  of  the  sky- 
scrapers. It  was  the  emancipation  of  woman, 
and  the  curse  of  Eve  was  lifted  from  them. 

But  the  tide  of  her  being  which  flowed  reg- 
ularly each  work-morning,  ebbed  regularly 
each  night.  Her  horizon  became  smaller  and 
less  bold  after  she  had  slid  her  nickel  over 
the  glass  to  the  spectacled  cashier  in  the  L 
cage  and  was  herded  for  home  on  the  jammed 
platform.  Her  boldness  continuously  dimin- 
ished as  station  after  station  was  called  and 
she  stood  to  her  strap,  glancing  from  the 
direct  imperatives,  "Uneeda  Union  Suit  and 
We  Can  Prove  It,"  " Hasten  to  the  House 
of  Hoopelheimer, "  "Smart  Set  Collars  for 
Swell  Spenders,"  "Blemishes  Blasted  by 
Blackfeeto,"  to  the  limp,  sallow  people  who, 
like  herself,  had  left  their  vitality  downtown. 

When  she  pushed  away  from  the  light  of 
her  home  station  into  the  gloom  and  up  the 
ineffectually  lighted  street  between  rows 
upon  rows  of  three  and  four  story  flats,  her 
head  slightly  bent,  scurrying  along  with  the 

52 


The  Head  of  the  House 

working  woman's  nightfall  pace,  like  Lucifer, 
she  felt  the  mighty  distance.  She  had  shrunk 
into  a  middle-class  wife  who  had  been  a  poor 
picker. 

So  it  usually  happened.  But  the  day  of  her 
triumph  over  Miss  Gerson  was  an  exception, 
and  the  corona  of  the  office  extended  and  en- 
veloped her  through  the  rows  of  flat  buildings 
and  up  two  flights  of  stairs  to  the  door  of  her 
own  apartment. 

She  entered  happily,  gaily.  And  there  was 
Jim  sprawled  in  one  chair,  his  dusty  boots  in 
another,  without  a  coat  to  hide  his  soiled 
shirt  sleeves,  without  a  collar  to  apologize 
for  his  unshaven  chin,  a  frazzled  cigar  be- 
tween his  fingers  and  a  heap  of  ashes  beside 
him  where  he  had  let  them  fall  upon  the  car- 
pet— her  carpet  that  she  had  earned  and  paid 
for. 

Ashes  had  fallen,  too,  upon  his  protruding 
abdomen.  He  breathed  very  heavily,  almost 
wheezed.  He  looked  up  to  speak.  His  eyes 
were  rather  swinish  in  recovery  from  de- 
bauch. His  teeth  were  bad  and  the  gap  which 
had  come  under  the  cut  lip  was  not  a  scar  of 
honor.  She  hoped  he  wouldn't  speak — but  of 
course  he  did. 

53 


Rebellion 

"Hello,  Georgia. " 

"  Hello, "  she  answered  mechanically. 

"What  you  been  doing?" 

What  a  stupid  question.  What  did  he  sup- 
pose she  had  been  doing!  For  when  a  hus- 
band doesn't  suit,  he  doesn't  suit  at  all — his 
very  attempts  at  peacemaking  become  an 
offense  in  him. 

"Working,"  she  said  curtly  and  passed  on 
to  their  bedroom. 

* '  Oh,  hell !  cut  out  the  everlasting  grouch, ' ' 
he  called  after  her,  and  went  to  the  window 
and  looked  out,  kneeling  moodily  on  the  win- 
dow seat.  He  was  Henpecko  the  Monk,  all 
right.  What  she  needed  was  a  firm  hand. 
Women  took  all  the  rope  you  gave  them — 
they  took  advantage  of  you.  He  ought  to 
have  begun  long  ago  to  shut  down  on  her 
nonsense.  Other  husbands  did,  and  by  God, 
he  would  begin.  Then  he  rubbed  his  prickly 
chin  and  smiled  ruefully.  For  hadn't  he  be- 
gun a  great  many  times  and  had  he  ever  been 
able  to  finish? 

Besides,  he  was  broke,  and  it  was  strictly 
necessary,  most  unfortunately  in  view  of  his 
present  disfavor,  for  him  to  obtain  a  loan. 

Maybe  Al  would   help   him    out    and   he 

54 


The  Head  of  the  House 

wouldn't  have  to  ask  Georgia.  There  was  an 
idea.  It  was  more  dignified,  too. 

He  didn't  know  whether  Al  had  come  in 
yet. 

He  himself  had  occupied  a  twenty-five  cent 
seat  that  afternoon  near  Mr.  Frank  Schulte, 
most  graceful  of  Cubs,  to  get  a  little  fresh 
air.  It  did  a  fellow  good  and  took  his  mind 
off  home,  which  a  fellow  had  to  do  now  and 
then  if  he  was  going  to  stand  it  at  all. 

On  the  return  trip,  to  be  sure,  he  had  suf- 
fered from  a  twinge  of  fans'  conscience  as 
he  realized  that  his  activities  of  the  day  had 
taken  about  fifty  cents  out  instead  of  putting 
any  cents  in.  A  rather  keen  twinge,  too,  in- 
asmuch as  Matty  had  been  strictly  "right." 
There  is  no  fun  in  giving  up  half  a  dollar  to 
see  the  Cubs  vivisected. 

"Oh,  Al,"  he  called  to  the  back  of  the  flat. 

"What?"  came  the  call  back. 

'  '  Hear  about  the  game ! ' ' 

"Nope." 

"I  was  out,"  said  Jim. 

That  ought  to  fetch  him — and  it  did. 

Al  entered  expectant.  He  was  an  extremely 
good-looking  boy  of  sixteen,  with  pink  cheeks, 
clear  blue  eyes,  and  a  kink  to  his  hair.  He 

55 


Rebellion 

might  have  been  called  pretty  if  his  shoulders 
were  not  quite  so  broad. 

"Who  win?  I  was  north  on  an  errand  late 
and  couldn't  get  a  peek  at  an  extra  after  the 
fifth. ' '  So  Al  apologized  to  his  brother-in-law 
for  his  ignorance. ' '  It  was  one  and  one  then. ' ' 

"The  Giants  win,  three  to  two,  and  believe 
me  there  was  a  rank  decision  at  the  plate 
against  Johnny  Evers.  He  beefed  on  it 
proper  and  got  chased.  That's  what  smeared 
us." 

"Johnny  ought  to  learn  to  control  him- 
self," said  Al  pathetically. 

"Yep.  He's  got  too  much  pep — that's 
what's  the  matter  with  that  lad." 

"And  all  the  umpires  in  the  league  have 
banded  together  against  him.  I  heard  it 
straight  to-day.  And  believe  me" — there  was 
an  element  of  mystery  in  the  boy's  voice, 
"there's  something  in  it." 

Jim  clenched  his  fist  and  brought  it  down 
hard.  "If  the  Cubs  win  out  against  the  em- 
pires this  year,"  he  stated  his  proposition 
with  a  vehement  brandish  of  his  fist,  "they'll 
be  going  some,"  but  his  peroration  rather 
flattened  out — ' '  believe  me. ' ' 

"Yes,  sir,  Jim.  That's  no  damn  lie." 

56 


The  Head  of  the  House 

"Say,  Al,  loan  me  a  quarter?" 

Unhappy  pause. 

All  sportsmen,  from  polo  players  and  tar- 
pon fishers  to  Kaffirs  in  their  kraals,  like  to 
talk  it  over  afterwards.  Al  didn't  want  to 
interrupt  his  baseball  palaver  with  Jim.  It 
might  last  right  through  supper  and  until 
bedtime,  as  it  often  did  when  Jim  stayed 
home. 

He  had  a  vast  fund  of  hypotheses  to  tell 
Jim  again,  and  some  new  ones.  If  he  refused 
Jim  the  loan  their  interesting  talk  would 
stop.  But  if  he  granted  it  he  would  be  a  boob. 
It  was  certainly  one  dilemma. 

Jim  smiled  and  repeated  his  thought.  "I'll 
do  as  much  for  you  some  time.  Go  on  now." 

Georgia  came  in  quickly  and  angrily.  "I 
should  think  you'd  be  ashamed,  Jim  Connor, 
trying  to  do  a  boy. ' ' 

"Oh,  so  you've  been  rubbering,  eh?"  Jim 
sneered. 

She  had;  but  this,  her  weakness,  was  one 
she  shared  with  many  other  women — likewise 
men.  In  petty  lives  are  petty  deeds.  Down- 
town she  did  not  listen,  or  tattle,  or  read 
other  people's  letters.  There  were  more  im- 
portant matters  to  attend  to. 

57 


Rebellion 

"I  got  to  have  a  little  loan/'  said  Jim — 
now  was  Ms  time  for  boldness — "to  tide  me 
over  till  Monday. ' ' 

She  was  obstinately  mute. 

"Let  me  have  a  two-dollar  bill  till  then?" 

"No." 

"One?" 

"No." 

"What  then?" 

"Nothing." 

"You  didn't  use  to  be  such  a  tightwad." 

"You  taught  me  that,  too,  Jim.  I'll  never 
give  you  another  cent  to  drink.  It  isn't  fair 
to  the  rest  of  us. ' ' 

Mrs,  Talbot,  Georgia's  mother,  the  home- 
body of  the  household,  came  in  from  the 
kitchen  to  say  that  supper  was  now  ready 
and  she  was  sick  and  tired  of  the  irregularity 
of  the  family  meals,  which  she  had  never 
been  accustomed  to  as  a  girl. 

"Oh,  cheer  up,  mother.  I've  good  news  to- 
day— a  raise." 

Georgia  took  her  pay  envelope  from  her 
handbag.  "See!" 

Mrs.  Talbot  flattened  out  the  creases  in  it 
and  read  it  aloud.  '  *  Georgia  Connor — weekly 
— twenty  dollars."  And  drew  forth  a  won- 

58 


The  Head  of  the  House 

derful,  round,  golden  double  eagle.  "Where- 
upon Jim  let  his  angry  passions  rise. 

His  wife — this  cold-blooded,  high-and- 
mighty  creature,  with  her  chin  in  the  air, 
refused  him  a  loan  on  the  very  same  day  she 
was  raised.  It  was  plain  viciousness.  It  was 
almost  a  form  of  perversion.  Forbearance, 
even  his,  had  its  limits. 

"Why,  Georgia, "  continued  the  mother, 
reading  the  inscription  from  the  envelope  in 
her  hand,  "how's  this,  they  call  you  'Miss,' 
Miss  Georgia  Connor — weekly — twenty  dol- 
lars." 

"Oh — ho,"  exclaimed  Jim  roughly,  for  now 
he  felt  that  it  was  his  turn.  "Passing  your- 
self off  as  unmarried,  eh  ?  A  little  fly  work — 
hey?  If  I  am  easy,  I  draw  the  line  some- 
where." 

"I  was  ashamed  to  let  them  know  I  was 
married  and  still  had  to  work  out,"  she  re- 
sponded evenly. 

That  was  just  the  way  it  always  happened. 
Georgia  invariably  ended  up  with  the  best 
of  it. 

"Well,  well,  let  it  pass,  though  it's  not 
right.  But  you  ought  to  let  me  have  a  dollar 
or  two,  considering.  Why,  Fve  got  a  right  to 

59 


Rebellion 

some  of  your  money.  You've  had  plenty  of 
mine  in  your  time." 

' i  For  value  received. ' ' 

"You  talk  of  marriage  as  if  it  was  bargain 
and  sale." 

Georgia's  voice,  which  had  been  thin  and 
colorless,  grew  suddenly  thick  with  the  bitter 
memories  of  seven  years.  "  It  is  oftentimes, ' ' 
she  said.  "Bad  bargain  and  cheap  sale." 

"And  now  and  then  it's  a  damned  high 
buy,  too,  when  a  man  gives  up  his  liberty  for 
a  daily  panning  from  his  wife,  and  his 
mother-in-law,  and  kid  brother. ' ' 

"If  I  am  a  kid,"  the  boy  interrupted  pas- 
sionately, "I've  brought  in  more  and  taken 
out  less  than  you  the  last  year." 

Blood  called  to  blood,  and  the  clan  of  Tal- 
bot  closed  around  the  lone  Connor. 

"When  he  had  to  come  out  of  school  and 
go  to  work  because  you  couldn't  keep  a  job !" 
screamed  the  elder  lady. 

"You  big  stiff,"  Al  brought  up  the  reen- 
forcement  half-crying  with  rage. 

"You  shut  up  or  I'll — "  Jim  answered 
hoarsely,  drawing  back  his  fist  in  menace. 

Al  jumped  for  a  light  chair  and  swung  it 
just  off  the  ground,  meeting  the  challenge. 

60 


The  Head  of  the  House 

So  standing,  the  two  glowered  at  each  other — 
Jim  wishing  that  he  was  twenty  years 
younger,  Al  that  he  was  three  years  older. 

As  Georgia  stood  back  from  them  hoping 
that  she  would  not  have  to  interpose  phys- 
ically between  the  two,  as  had  happened  once 
or  twice  in  the  past  year,  she  felt  more  in- 
tensely than  she  ever  had  before  that  her 
home  life  was  very  sordid  and  degrading  to 
her.  This  eternal  jangling  which  seemed  to 
run  on  just  the  same  whether  she  took  part 
in  it  or  not,  was  the  life  for  snarling  hyenas, 
not  for  a  young  woman  with  an  ambition  for 
6  i  getting  on, ' '  for  rising  in  the  social  scale. 

The  two  males,  finally  impelled  by  a  com- 
mon doubt  of  the  outcome,  tacitly  agreed 
upon  verbal  rather  than  physical  violence. 
The  raucous  quarrel  broke  out  anew.  Mrs. 
Talbot — but  you,  gentle  reader,  undoubtedly 
can  surmise  substantially  what  followed. 
You  must  have  friends  who  have  family  quar- 
rels. 

Finally  there  was  a  lull,  after  all  three  had 
had  their  says  several  times  over,  and  were 
trying  to  think  up  new  ones. 

"Jim,"  said  Georgia  slowly  and  deliber- 


61 


Rebellion 

ately,  for  she  felt  that  the  hour  had  come, 
"why  not  make  this  our  last  quarrel?" 

"That's  up  to  you,"  he  returned  belliger- 
ently. 

'  '  By  making  it  permanent. ' ' 

"What  do  you  mean?"  answered  Jim,  now 
a  trifle  alarmed. 

' 1 1  mean  that  the  time  has  come  for  us  to 
separate,  for  the  good  of  all  of  us." 

She  looked  straight  at  him,  until  he  drop- 
ped his  red  and  watery  eyes  before  her  strong 
gray  ones.  There  was  a  pause,  a  solemn 
pause  in  that  poor  family. 

"Children,"  said  the  older  woman  softly 
and  timidly,  ' '  there  is  such  a  thing  as  carry- 
ing bitter  words  too  far. ' ' 

"Mother,  when  two  people  come  to  the  sit- 
uation we're  in,  Jim  and  I,"  for  the  first  time 
there  was  a  semblance  of  sympathy  for  the 
man  in  her  voice,  "then  I  believe  the  only 
thing  they  can  do,  and  stay  decent,  is  to  sep- 
arate. To  go  on  living  together  when  they 
neither  like  nor  love  each  other " 

"How  do  you  know?  I  never  said  that," 
Jim  said  humbly. 

"It  is  not  what  you  say  that  counts.  We 
don't  love  each  other  any  more ;  that  was  over 
62 


The  Head  of  the  House 

long  ago ;  that's  the  whole  trouble ;  that's  why 
we  quarrel;  that's  why  you  drink  and  I'm 
hateful  to  you — and  it'll  get  worse  and  worse 
and  more  degrading  if  we  keep  on.  Oh,  I  feel 

no  better  than  a  woman  of  the  streets  when 
j » 

"Georgia,"  Mrs.  Talbot  raised  her  eyes 
significantly,  glancing  at  Al,  to  warn  her 
daughter  against  letting  her  son  know  a  truth. 

"Oh,  I  have  been  thinking  this  over  and 
over — for  months, ' '  continued  the  wife,  i  l  and 
I  kept  putting  it  off.  But  now  I'm  glad  I  said 
it  and  it's  done." 

' '  The  church  admits  of  only  one  ground  for 
this,"  said  Mrs.  Talbot  desperately,  fighting 
for  respectability;  "do  you  mean  that  Jim 
has " 

"I  don't  know " 

"No,"  Jim  denied  indignantly,  "you  can't 
accuse  me  of  that  anyway." 

"And  I  don't  care." 

"You  don't  care?"  That  was  a  most  as- 
tounding remark,  clear  outside  his  calcula- 
tions. Why — wives  always  cared  tremend- 
ously. Every  man  knew  that. 

' '  No,  if  need  be  I  could  forgive  an  act,  but 
not  a  state  of  mind." 

63 


Rebellion 

Mrs.  Talbot  found  herself  literally  forced 
to  take  sides  with  Jim.  This  was  an  attack  on 
all  tradition,  on  everything  that  she  had  been 
taught.  ' '  Why,  I  never  heard  of  such  talk  in 
my  life. ' ' 

But  Georgia  would  not  qualify.  "Well,  I 
think  that's  all."  She  walked  to  the  door. 
"I  suppose  I  have  seemed  very  hard,  but  it 
was  best  to  make  the  cut  sharp  and  clean." 
There  was  no  sign  of  relenting  in  the  set  of 
her  mouth  or  in  her  narrowed  eyes ;  and  Jim 
knew  it  was  nearly  impossible  to  do  anything 
with  her  when  her  nostrils  grew  wide  like 
that. 

"All  right, "  he  mumbled,  "have  it  your 
own  way." 

"Try  to  brace  up  for  your  own  sake,  if 
you  wouldn't  for  mine."  That  was  her  good- 
bye. She  went  from  the  room  with  Al. 

The  mother  waited  behind.  "She'll  think 
better  of  this  by  and  by,  Jim.  I'll  speak  to 
her  about  it  now  and  then,"  she  said,  "and 
keep  you  in  her  mind.  And  I'm  going  to  the 
priest  about  it,  too.  It's  sin  she's  doing.  And 
Jim " 

"Yes?"  he  grieved  humbly,  almost  crying. 

64 


The  Head  of  the  House 

"You  better  go  over  to  Father  Hervey  and 
tell  him  all  about  it.' ' 

"Yes,  I'll  do  that  same." 

"Well,  good-bye  for  now — you  better  go 
to  some  hotel  to-night, ' '  she  gave  him  a  dollar 
from  the  purse  in  her  bosom,  "and  try  and 
get  work.  It'll  make  your  coming  back 
easier." 

"Thanks,  mother,  I'll  do  that  same.  Er— I 
guess  I'll  go  in  and  change  my  collar.  That'll 
be  all  right,  won 't  it  f  " 

"Yes,  Georgia's  in  the  dining  room." 

Mrs.  Talbot  left  him.  He  rubbed  his 
knuckles  slowly  across  his  eye,  his  breath 
catching  quickly.  Then  he  spied  Georgia's 
hand  bag.  There  was  the  trouble-money — 
twenty  dollars,  a  round,  golden  double  eagle. 
He  opened  the  handbag  to — well,  to  look  at  it. 
He  spun  it ;  he  palmed  it ;  he  tossed  it  in  the 
air,  calling  heads.  It  came  tails.  He  tried  it 
again  and  it  came  heads.  That  settled  it.  He 
slipped  the  coin  into  his  pocket,  and  went  out 
of  the  room.  At  least  there  was  salvage  in 
leaving  one's  wife. 

After  supper  Georgia  packed  up  his  things, 
every  stick  and  stitch  of  them,  and  with  the 
aid  of  Al  drew  them  out  into  the  hallway. 

65 


Rebellion 

Later  in  the  evening  a  politician,  one  of 
Ed  Miles',  knocked  at  the  door. 

"Good  evening,  ma'am,  I'm  from  the  For- 
tieth Ward  Clnb.  I  have  a  message  for  Mr. 
Connor.  He's  wanted  at  headquarters  right 
away." 

"He  doesn't  live  here  any  more." 

The  politician  was  perplexed. 

"Where  does  he  live?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Georgia,  shut- 
ting the  door. 

It  was  not  until  the  next  morning  that  she 
discovered  the  loss  of  her  money. 


"He  doesn't  live  here  any  more." 


V 

FOE  IDLE  HANDS  TO  DO 

The  old  man  had  gone  to  Europe  for  his 
summer  vacation,  leaving  Georgia  secure  in 
her  place  with  nothing  to  worry  ahout.  She 
had  no  more  than  half  work  to  do.  Business 
had  slackened  and  the  whole  office  was  in  the 
doldrums.  Life's  fitful  fever  had  abated  to 
subnormal  placidity.  Even  her  mother's 
chronic  indignation  over  trifles  had  been 
quieted  by  the  summer's  drowse. 

The  only  interesting  moments  in  Georgia's 
day  were  nine  o'clock  when  she  came  and  five 
o'clock  when  she  left — noon  on  Saturdays. 
The  Sundays  were  amazingly  dull. 

So  was  her  home.  Al  stayed  away  from  it 
from  breakfast  unto  bedtime,  with  a  brief 
interval  for  supper.  He  was  engrossed  in 
prairie  league  baseball  for  one  thing.  That 
occupied  him  all  day  Sunday  and  half  of  Sat- 
urday. Of  course  he  couldn't  play  after  dark, 

67 


Rebellion 

but  whenever  Georgia  asked  him  where  he 
was  going  as  he  bolted  from  the  table  with 
his  cap,  he  answered,  "Out  to  see  some  fel- 
lahs." 

If  she  hoped  that  he  would  stay  at  home 
to-night,  for  he  was  out  last  night  and  the  one 
before,  he  would  explain,  with  as  much  con- 
viction as  if  he  offered  a  clinching  argument, 
that  "the  fellahs"  were  a-calling  and  he 
must  go. 

She  was  rather  put  out  to  find  herself  un- 
able to  speak  with  the  same  vehemence  and 
authority  to  him  as  she  had  been  able  to  use 
with  Jim  concerning  the  folly  and  wickedness 
of  going  out  after  supper.  For  when  it  comes 
to  putting  fingers  on  a  man's  destiny,  a  wife 
is  a  more  effective  agency  than  a  sister.  Even 
in  unhappy  marriages  husband  and  wife  are 
as  two  circles  which  intersect.  They  have 
common,  identical  ground  between  them.  It 
may  not  be  large,  but  such  as  it  is  it  inevitably 
gives  them  moments  of  oneness.  Brother  and 
sister  are  as  two  circles,  whose  rims  just 
touch.  They  may  be  very  near  each  other,  but 
at  no  time  are  they  each  other. 

Georgia's  restlessness  and  discontent  in- 


68 


For  Idle  Hands  to  Do 

creased  as  the  summer  went  on,  probably  be- 
cause she  was  affecting  nobody  else's  destiny 
to  any  calculable  extent.  Her  young  brother 
Al  kept  away,  perhaps  warned  by  a  deep  race 
instinct  that  sisters  are  not  meant  to  affect 
destinies.  Her  old  mother  was  a  settled  case 
already.  She  wouldn't  change;  she  couldn't 
change ;  she  could  hardly  be  modified,  except 
by  the  weather  or  the  rheumatism ;  she  would 
merely  grow  old  and  die.  No  satisfaction 
for  a  young  adventurous  woman  in  experi- 
menting on  such  a  soul. 

It  has  been  said  that  neither  the  woman  nor 
the  man  alone  is  the  complete  human  being, 
but  the  man  and  the  woman  together.  This 
woman,  Georgia,  who  for  seven  years  had 
been  completed  by  the  addition  of  the  mascu- 
line element,  was  now  made  incomplete.  She 
struggled  in  vain  to  find  contentment  in  reg- 
ular hours,  regular  sleep,  regular  work  and 
regular  pay. 

She  had  supposed  for  years  that  peace  and 
quiet,  and  enough  money,  and  never  the  smell 
of  whiskey  were  all  she  wanted.  And  here 
was  her  subconsciousness,  which  she  couldn't 
understand,  making  her  perfectly  wretched, 


69 


Rebellion 

though  she  couldn't  tell  why;  calling  insist- 
ently for  another  man,  though  she  didn't  in 
the  least  realize  it.  She  only  knew  she  was 
tired  of  being  cooped  up  in  the  house  even- 
ings ;  she  wanted  to  get  out  now  and  then  for 
a  change  and  to  see  people  who  had  some 
ideas. 

She  went  for  a  Saturday  evening  supper 
to  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  Zweite  Beer  and  Music 
Garden  with  a  school-girl  friend  and  her  hus- 
band. This  pleasure-ground  was  well  north, 
out  of  the  smoke.  The  night  was  soft  and  the 
music  lovely.  She  was  much  entertained  by 
the  husband's  talk,  and  considered  that  she 
held  up  her  end  with  him  very  well. 

The  next  time  they  invited  her  she  spent 
some  little  time  before  hand,  "fixing-up"  for 
the  occasion.  Eibbons  were  put  back  where 
they  used  to  be  long  ago  when  she  first  met 
Jim.  Her  hat  underwent  revolutionary  read- 
justment, as  the  school  friend  made  plain  by 
heated  compliments  on  Georgia's  millinery 
skill. 

However,  the  husband  seemed  absolutely 
content  with  its  effect  and  Georgia's  anima- 
tion increased  throughout  the  evening,  calling 
back  a  long  neglected  flush  to  her  cheeks  and 

70 


For  Idle  Hands  to  Do 

a  gay  pace  to  her  bearing.  She  was  not  asked 
a  third  time,  however,  which  did  not  unflatter 
her.  It  was  evidence  that  she  had  not  slowed 
down  completely — that  she  was  not  finished. 
Meanwhile  Jim,  after  spreeing  away  his 
twenty  dollars,  had  gone  West. 


71 


VI 

TBIANGULATION 

Mason  Stevens,  Sr.,  was  a  horse  doctor  in 
Eogersville,  Peoria  County,  Illinois.  He  wore 
a  gray  mustache  and  imperial  beard  in  tribute 
to  that  famous  Chicago  veterinarian  who  has 
made  more  race  horses  stand  on  four  legs 
than  any  other  man  in  the  Mississippi  Valley. 

Besides  horses,  Mr.  Stevens  knew  cattle, 
hogs,  sheep,  tumbler  and  carrier  pigeons, 
bred-to-type  poultry,  and  whiskey.  If  he 
hadn't  carried  a  bottle  about  with  him  in  his 
buggy  he  might  be  alive  now. 

Mason  Stevens,  Jr.,  wanted  to  be  a  real 
doctor,  so  he  came  up  to  Chicago  to  the  Bush 
Medical  College.  After  his  first  year,  whiskey 
took  his  father,  the  funeral  took  the  rest,  and 
the  young  man  after  a  brief  fight  gave  up  the 
vision  of  some  day  substituting  "M.D."  in 
place  of  "  Jr."  after  his  name. 

He  had  been  a  respected  boy  at  school, 
green  but  positive.  To  help  him  out,  some  of 

72 


Triangulaticn 

his  friends  persuaded  their  fathers,  uncles 
or  other  sources  of  supply  to  give  "Old 
Mase"  a  chance  to  write  their  fire  insurance. 
He  took  the  opening.  Presently  his  acquaint- 
ance was  wide  enough  for  him  to  branch  out 
into  life  as  well  as  fire.  After  ten  years  in  the 
city  he  was  able  to  go  to  the  general  agent  of 
his  company  and  ask  for  a  regular  salary,  in 
addition  to  his  commissions,  on  the  ground 
that  there  wasn't  another  solicitor  in  the 
state  he  had  to  take  his  hat  off  to. 

He  was  a  highly  concentrated  product,  like 
most  successful  countrymen  in  the  city.  He 
hadn't  been  scattered  in  culture.  He  knew 
no  foreign  languages,  no  art  save  that  on 
calendars,  no  music  he  could  not  hum,  no 
drama  save  very  occasionally  a  burlesque 
show  when  he  felt  that  he  needs  must  see 
women. 

He  knew,  if  he  hadn't  forgotten,  how  to 
find  a  kingfisher's  nest  up  a  small  tunnel 
in  the  river  bank,  or  a  red-winged  blackbird's 
pendant  above  the  swamp  waters,  or  a 
butcher-bird's  in  a  thornbush  with  beheaded 
field  mice  hanging  from  its  spears.  Even 
now,  with  farmer's  instinct,  he  looked  up 


73 


Rebellion 

quickly  through  the  skyscrapers  at  a  sudden 
shift  in  wind. 

He  lived  in  a  rooming  house  and  ate  where 
he  happened  to  be.  His  bureau  was  bare  of 
everything  save  the  towel  across  the  top,  his 
derby  hat,  when  he  was  in  bed,  and  a  handful 
of  matches.  His  upper  drawer,  usually  half- 
pulled  out,  was  filled  not  with  collars  and  ties, 
but  with  papers  relating  to  his  business; 
actuaries'  figures;  reports  from  all  com- 
panies, his  own  and  his  rivals';  records  of 
"prospects"  that  he  had  brought  home  for 
evening  study;  rough  drafts  of  solicitation 
"literature"  he  was  getting  up  for  the  com- 
pany. He  usually  worked  at  night  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  his  hat  cocked  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  his  chair  tilted  back  against  the  wall 
under  a  single  gas  jet  with  a  ground  glass 
globe  that  diverted  most  of  the  light  upward 
toward  the  ceiling. 

Even  after  he  reached  the  point  where  he 
could  afford  more  expensive  living,  he  did  not 
change.  He  wore  better  clothes  because  a 
"front"  was  mere  business  intelligence,  but 
otherwise  his  habits  were  within  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  of  his  first  year. 

Pleasure  he  regarded  as  the  enemy,  not  so 

74 


Triangulation 

much  because  of  its  money-cost,  as  because  it 
was  diverting.  He  didn't  wish  to  be  diverted ; 
he  wished  to  sell  life  insurance  and  more  and 
more.  That  was  as  far  as  he  went  with  his 
plans.  He  didn't  want  to  get  rich  so  as  to 
gratify  dreams,  to  have  a  beautiful  wife  and 
buy  her  a  big  house  and  motors.  He  simply 
wanted  to  get  rich. 

He  had  had  no  romance  since  he  left  the 
Kogersville  High  School.  That  one  had  been 
sweet  enough  for  awhile,  but  nothing  came 
of  it.  And  he  remembered  that  on  account  of 
it  he  had  neglected  his  studies  senior  year 
and  not  graduated  at  the  top  of  the  class. 
Indeed,  the  object  of  his  affection,  with  fitting 
irony,  had  herself  achieved  that  distinction, 
which  cooled  his  fever  for  her. 

Mason  was  a  great  believer  in  the  value  of 
6  i  bumps. "  When  he  made  a  failure  in  any 
enterprise,  he  was  wont  to  analyze  why,  in 
order  to  double-guard  himself  against  a  repe- 
tition of  it.  None  but  a  fool  repeats  a  mis- 
take. He  drummed  that  into  himself.  Thus 
in  the  long  run  he  was  ready  to  turn  every 
"bump"  into  an  asset  instead  of  a  liability. 
It  is  a  system  of  philosophy  widespread  in 
this  nation,  especially  among  country-bred 

75 


Rebellion 

people  of  Puritan  tradition,  strong,  rugged 
people  who  believe  in  the  supreme  power  of 
the  individual  will,  who  minimize  luck  and 
take  no  stock  in  fatalism.  These  are  usually 
termed  "the  backbone  of  the  American  peo- 
ple," and  though  of  course  they  know  that 
God  is  everywhere  and  omnipotent,  they  like- 
wise believe  that  He  has  appointed  them  His 
deputies,  with  a  pretty  free  hand  to  act,  in  the 
conduct  of  the  earth. 

Mason  Stevens  came  of  this  stock.  And 
though  his  father  was  a  backslider,  his 
mother  was  not,  and  she  brought  him  up  on 
the  saying,  "Maybe  this  will  teach  you  a 
lesson,  my  son,  next  time  you  think  of  doing 
so-and-so. " 

This  shows  why  Mason  Stevens  did  not  fall 
in  love  with  any  woman,  after  the  high  school 
girl,  until  he  fell  most  desperately  in  love 
with  Georgia  Connor. 

He  resisted  love  from  conviction.  One 
female  ten  years  before  had  defeated  his 
brains  and  his  purpose  by  her  charm.  He 
wanted  no  more  of  that. 

But  he  had  to  fight.  Often  enough  as  he 
walked  through  the  long  office  through  the 
double  row  of  shirt-waisted  figures  bending 

76 


Triangulation 

over  typewriters  and  desks,  it  seemed  impera- 
tive for  him  to  know  them  better,  to  wait  for 
one  of  them  after  office  hours  and  ride  home 
with  her  on  the  car. 

Everything  else  was  wiped  out  of  him  for 
the  moment  but  just  the  question  of  riding 
home  with  a  twelve-dollar-a-week  girl.  Then 
he  would  walk  quickly  on  past  the  girl  who 
absorbed  his  imagination,  his  mouth  set  and 
his  brows  scowling.  And  she  would  confide 
in  her  neighbor  that  he  was  crazy  about 
himself. 

Sometimes  when  he  was  at  home  under  the 
gas  jet  with  his  business  papers  on  his  knee, 
the  vision  of  fair  women  would  float  before 
him,  all  the  most  beautiful  in  his  imaginings 
as  he  had  seen  them  in  pictures  or  on  the 
stage.  He  might  dream  for  an  hour  before 
remembering  that  he  was  in  the  world  to  sell 
life  insurance  and  that  women  would  hamper 
his  single-mindedness  as  surely  as  whiskey. 

Who  was  the  man  he  was  surest  of  making 
sign  an  application  blank  when  he  set  out 
after  him?  The  man  who  had  a  woman  in 
his  head,  every  time ;  the  man  with  the  wife, 
and  children,  which  are  the  consequences 
of  a  wife;  or  one  who  was  gibbering  in  a 

77 


Rebellion 

fool's  heaven  because  a  young  girl  had  gra- 
ciously promised  to  allow  him  to  support  her 
for  the  rest  of  her  days. 

So  he  kept  away  from  bad  women  as  much 
as  he  could,  and  from  good  women  always. 

Especially  from  those  in  the  office.  Their 
constant  propinquity  was  a  constant  menace 
and  he  had  known  a  lot  of  fellows  to  get  tan- 
gled up  that  way,  and  he  wouldn't — if  he 
could  help  it. 

But  he  couldn't  help  it  after  he  knew 
Georgia.  She  was  so  useful  mentally  and 
physically,  and  that  was  what  he  first  noticed 
about  her.  He  hated  slackness  of  any  sort, 
especially  in  women,  because  he  had  trained 
himself  to  dwell  on  women's  faults  rather 
than  on  men's. 

Her  manners,  he  thought,  were  precisely 
perfect.  She  seemed  to  hit  a  happy  medium 
between  gushing  and  shyness,  and  to  hit  it  in 
the  dead  center.  Her  teeth  were  white  and 
good,  and  she  smiled  often,  but  not  too  often. 
She  never  overdid  anything,  and  her  voice 
was  low  and  full.  She  knew  what  you  were 
driving  at  before  you  half  started  telling  her ; 
also  she  could  make  a  fresh  clerk  feel  foolish 
in  one  minute  by  the  clock. 

78 


Triangulation 

She  had  the  charm  of  perfect  health. 
About  her  dark  irises  the  whites  of  her  eyes 
were  very  white,  touched  with  the  faintest 
bluish  tinge  from  the  arterial  blood  beneath. 
There  was  a  natural  lustre  in  her  hair,  un- 
common among  indoor  people.  Her  steps  took 
her  straight  to  where  she  wanted  to  go.  She 
made  no  false  motions.  When  she  looked  for 
something  in  her  desk,  she  opened  the  drawer 
where  it  was,  not  the  one  above  or  below.  Her 
muscles,  nerves  and  proportions  were  so  bal- 
anced that  it  was  difficult  for  her  to  fall  into 
an  ungraceful  posture. 

Considering  these  manifold  excellent  quali- 
ties, the  most  remarkable  thing  about  her, 
he  thought,  was  that  she  had  not  long  before 
been  invited  to  embellish  the  mansion  and 
the  motors  of  a  millionaire.  He  wrote  en- 
thusiastically to  his  mother  suggesting  that  it 
would  be  nice  to  invite  her  to  Bogersville  for 
a  portion  at  least  of  her  coming  summer  vaca- 
tion, which  brought  a  most  unhappy  smile  to 
his  mother's  lips.  But  since  he  did  not  re- 
peat his  request,  the  invitation  was  not  ex- 
tended. 

The  first  time  that  he  knew  he  regarded 
her  as  a  woman  rather  than  as  a  workwoman 

79 


Rebellion 

was  one  afternoon  when  the  declining  sun 
threw  its  light  higher  and  higher  into  the  big 
office.  A  ray  shone  on  and  from  her  patent 
leather  belt  and  into  his  eyes.  He  looked  up 
annoyed  from  his  work.  She  was  sitting  a 
few  desks  ahead  by  the  window,  her  back  to- 
ward him.  Before  very  long  the  thing  had 
fascinated  him  and  he  found  himself  im- 
mensely concerned  with  the  climb  of  the  sun 
up  her  shirt  waist. 

It  reached  her  collar  in  a  manner  entirely 
marvelous  and  then  precisely  at  the  moment 
when  he  was  finally  to  know  its  effect  upon 
her  hair,  she  lowered  the  shade.  What  luck ! 

The  next  day  was  cloudy.  The  next  was 
Saturday  and  she  quit  at  twelve,  before  the 
sun  got  around  to  her  window.  Monday  she 
lowered  the  shade  before  the  light  got  even 
to  her  shoulder.  Little  did  she  know  of  the 
repressed  anguish  she  was  so  bringing  to  the 
gloomy  young  hustler  behind  her.  But  on 
Tuesday  the  sunlight  reached  her  hair  mo- 
mentarily as  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and 
gleamed  and  glittered  there,  a  coruscation 
of  glory  for  fully  thirty  seconds — long  enough 
to  overturn  in  catastrophe  his  thirty  years 
and  their  slowly  built  purposes. 

80 


Triangulation 

He  resolved  hereafter  to  deal  primarily  not 
in  life  insurance,  but  in  life,  which  meant 
Georgia. 


81 


vn 
A  SENTIMENTAL  JOUKNEY 

During  the  ensuing  days  Mason  was  hope- 
less for  work. 

From  the  office  books  he  found  out  where 
she  lived,  slyly  as  he  supposed,  but  not  so 
slyly  that  the  information  clerk  didn't  tell 
someone,  who  told  someone  who  teased  Geor- 
gia at  the  luncheon  club,  not  thereby  displeas- 
ing her.  For  he  was  a  good-looking  fellow 
and  capable;  furthermore,  he  had  always  kept 
himself  to  himself,  so  putting  several  noses 
out  of  joint,  it  was  said. 

He  had  moments  of  anguished  self- 
reproach  as  he  sat  in  his  room  in  his  board- 
ing house,  his  chair  tilted  against  the  wall 
under  the  gas  jet,  his  coat  on  his  bed,  his 
derby  hat  tilted  back  on  his  head. 

He  knew  that  his  life  had  been  utterly  un- 
worthy. He  had  drunk  it  to  the  lees,  pretty 
near.  But  now  he  was  through  with  all  that. 

82 


A  Sentimental  Journey 

Hereafter,  for  her  sake,  he  would  conquer 
himself  and  others. 

His  sense  of  beauty  was  limited  by  inherit- 
ance and  by  disuse,  but  now  he  began  to 
draw  upon  all  the  poetry  in  his  soul — not  to 
write  to  her,  but  to  think  of  her. 

His  imagination,  naturally  fertile  and 
strengthened  by  the  practice  of  his  profes- 
sion, centered  itself  on  the  question  of  his 
first  kiss  from  her — where,  when  and  how 
should  it  happen?  He  called  all  great  lovers 
from  Borneo  to  Eobert  W.  Chambers  to  his 
aid — it  must  be  under  the  moon,  the  fra- 
grance about  them.  And  a  lake,  a  little  lake, 
for  the  moon  to  shine  upon  and  magically 
increase  its  magic.  He  remembered  the  moon 
on  the  river  back  in  Eogersville,  with  the 
other  girl — the  first  one.  What  mere  children 
they  were.  That  was  puppy  love,  but  this 
was  love;  love  such  as  no  man  ever  felt  be- 
fore for  a  woman. 

He  was  hard  hit. 

The  lake  suggested  a  train  of  thought,  so 
he  packed  his  bag  on  Saturday  and  went  to 
southern  Wisconsin.  The  resort  dining  room 
was  full  of  noisy  youths  and  maidens  who, 
in  his  decided  opinion  had  no  proper  rever- 

83 


Rebellion 

ence  for  love,  though  they  seemed  perfectly 
amorous  whenever  he  suddenly  came  upon  a 
pair  of  them  as  much  as  one  hundred  yards 
from  the  hotel. 

He  chartered  a  flatbottom  after  supper  to 
row  out  alone  and  contemplate  the  moon  and 
her,  but  the  voices  of  the  night  and  the  frogs 
were  overwhelmed  by  the  detestable  mando- 
lins tinkling  "My  Wife's  Gone  to  the  Coun- 
try, Hurray. " 

When  finally  he  turned  in  he  discovered 
there  was  a  drummers'  poker  party  on  the 
other  side  of  the  pine  partition,  so  it  wasn't 
until  nearly  daylight  he  dozed  off,  to  wake  a 
couple  of  hours  later  when  the  dishes  began 
to  rattle. 

The  boat  concessionaire  reported  pickerel 
in  the  lake  and  he  joined  the  Sunday  pisca- 
torial posse.  He  returned  with  two  croppies 
and  the  record  of  many  bites,  mostly  on  him- 
self. 

He  concluded  he  wasn't  interested  in  fish- 
ing anyway.  It  was  just  a  device  to  cheat  him- 
self and  make  himself  suppose  he  was  having 
a  good  time.  He  couldn't  have  a  good  time 
and  wouldn't  if  he  could,  until  he  knew  her, 
until  at  least  he  knew  her.  Why  he  had  never 

84 


A  Sentimental  Journey 

said  ten  words  to  her  more  than  i  i  Good  morn- 
ing" and  ' '  Good  evening. ' '  He  would  call  on 
her ;  he  had  her  address.  He  would  go  to  her 
apartment  and  ring  the  bell  and  say,  "Miss 
Connor,  I  have  come  to  call  on  you.  Do  you 
mind?" 

No,  that  would  hardly  do.  It  was  too  bold. 
He  mustn't  seem  at  all  crude  to  her,  but 
mannerly  and  suave  and  self-possessed.  A 
girl,  and  especially  one  of  her  sort,  would 
object  to  crudeness.  He  must  be  very  courtly, 
knightly.  Flowers  on  her  desk  every  morn- 
ing, perhaps,  not  a  card,  not  a  word.  A 
handful  of  sweet  blossoms  each  day  to  greet 
her  and  bear  her  silent  testimony  that  there 

was  one  who She  would  know,  of  course, 

in  due  time  whence  they  came.  Not  that  he 
would  ever  so  much  as  hint  at  his  gifts,  but 
her  woman's  intuition  would  tell  her.  And 
when  she  did  realize  in  this  way  his  silent 
though  passionate  devotion,  she  would  thank 
him,  gently  and  sadly,  and  a  bond  would  be 
made  between  them. 

But  then,  what  if  the  other  people  in  the 
office  had  intuition,  too,  or  saw  him  bringing 
in  flowers?  No,  decidedly  that  wouldn't  do. 

And  then — just  in  time  for  him  to  catch 

85 


Rebellion 

the  3:40 — a  blinding  flash  of  warning  illu- 
mined his  whole  being.  What  if,  virile  he 
was  there  shilly-shallying  at  a  summer  resort, 
some  other  fellow  was  with  her  in  Chicago  at 
that  very  moment? 

"What  if" — a  ridiculous  way  to  put  it. 
Wasn't  it  sure  in  the  nature  of  things,  that 
at  that  very  moment  some  other  man  was 
with  her? 

He  caught  the  3 :40.  He  would  call  on  her 
that  very  evening  and  if  indeed  he  didn't  de- 
clare himself  bluntly  in  so  many  words — 
hadn't  he  heard  of  numberless  women  who 
had  been  won  at  first  sight? — he  would  at 
least  intimate  to  her  strongly,  unmistakably, 
that  she  was  the  object  of  his  respectful  con- 
sideration and  attention. 

There  were  others  in  the  field.  It  was 
time  he  declared  himself  in,  too. 

It  wasn't  until  5 :37,  when  the  train  reached 
Clybourn  Junction,  that  he  began  to  repent 
his  precipitancy.  He  was  going  to  see  her 
again  in  the  office  to-morrow,  wasn't  he? 
Wouldn't  it  look  queer  if  he  went  out  to 
call  on  her  to-night  without  warning?  She 
might  be  wholly  unprepared  for  callers  and 
annoyed. 

86 


A  Sentimental  Journey 

But  his  presumable  rival  bobbed  up  again 
and  spoiled  his  supper,  so  after  dropping  his 
bag  at  home,  he  walked  presently  into  the 
entry  way  of  2667  Pearl  Avenue.  Her  name 
was  not  on  the  left  side;  perhaps  she  had 
moved.  No,  here  on  the  right,  floor  3,  in 
letters  of  glory — i '  Connor. ' '  Above  it,  ' '  Tal- 
bot." 

Who  was  Talbot?  Married  sister,  room- 
mate or  landlady  from  whom  she  sublet  ?  He 
raised  his  thumb  to  the  bell.  He  had  never 
before  experienced  a  moment  of  such  acute 
consciousness. 

Wait  a  second — she  might  not  be  in.  He 
walked  out  and  looked  up  at  the  third  floor 
right.  There  was  certainly  a  light,  a  bright 
one,  and  the  window  was  open  and  the  curtain 
fluttering  out. 

Somebody  was  in.  It  might  be  Talbot.  In 
that  case  he  wouldn't  go  up  or  leave  his  name 
either.  It  certainly  was  none  of  Talbot 's 
business,  whoever  Talbot  was. 

He  pressed  the  button  under  her  name. 
6 '  Yes  ! ' '  Heavens  above,  it  was  she,  Georgia, 
the  woman  herself. 

* '  Yes,  who  is  it  1 "  came  the  voice  once  more. 

"Stevens.?' 

87 


Rebellion 

"Mr.  Stevens V9  with  a  decided  tone  of 
interrogation.  Evidently  she  did  not  place 
him  at  all.  Probably  not,  with  so  many  other 
men  about  her.  It  would  be  absurd  to  sup- 
pose anything  else.  She  didn't  place  him— 
might  not  even  recognize  him  out  of  the  office. 

"Mason  Stevens  of  the  office." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Stevens  of  the  office.  How  do 
you  do?"  and  she  spoke  with  a  delightful 
access  of  cordiality.  i l  Will  you  come  up  ?  " 

"Just  for  a  minute,  if  I  may.  I  won't  keep 
you  long." 

"Wait,  I'll  let  you  in."  The  click-click- 
click  sounded  and  he  was  on  his  way  upstairs. 
She  opened  the  door  for  him. 

A  quick  glance.  There  was  no  other  man 
in  the  room,  anyway. 

"Good  evening,"  she  said.  "Won't  you 
come  in!" 

"Why,  yes,"  then  very  apologetically; 
"that  is,  if  I'm  not  putting  you  out." 

"No,  indeed."  He  sat  and  paused.  She 
smiled  and  did  not  help  him. 

"You're  nicely  located  here,  Miss  Connor." 

"Oh,  yes,  we  like  it." 

"Near  the  express  station?" 


88 


A  Sentimental  Journey 

"Yes.  I  usually  get  a  seat  in  the  morning, 
but  not  coming  back,  of  course. ' ' 

"About  three  blocks,  isn't  it?" 

"Three  long  ones." 

"A  nice  walk." 

"Yes,  this  time  of  year,  but  not  so  nice  in 
winter  when  they  don't  clean  the  snow  off  the 
sidewalks. ' ' 

He  felt  that  it  was  a  bit  jerky.  Perhaps 
he  should  first  have  asked  her  permission  to 
call.  What  a  goat  he  was  not  to  think  of 
that  beforehand  instead  of  now.  He  paused 
until  the  pause  grew  uncomfortable. 

She  tried  to  help  him  out,  "We're  out  of 
the  smoke  belt,  that's  one  thing." 

He  was  seated  in  a  rocking  chair  and  began 
to  rock  violently,  then  suddenly  he  stopped 
and  leaned  toward  her,  his  elbows  on  his 
knees. 

"I've  been  slow  getting  to  the  point,"  he 
remarked  abruptly,  "but  I  came  here  on 
business." 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  just  sure  what." 

Stevens  took  half  a  dozen  life  insurance 
advertising  folders  from  his  pocket.  "You 
know  this  literature  we're  using,"  he  said, 
running  two  or  three  through  his  fingers  and 

89 


Rebellion 

indicating  them  by  their  titles,  "  'Do  You 
Want  Your  Wife  to  Want  When  She's  a 
Widow ?'  *  Friendship  for  the  Fatherless/ 
' Death's  Dice  Are  Loaded.'  " 

"Oh,  yes."  She  took  them  from  him  and 
read  aloud.  "  'Over  the  Hills  to  the  Poor- 
house,'  with  a  photograph  of  it,  'Will  Your 
Little  Girl  Have  to  Scrub?'  with  thumbnail 
pictures  of  scrub  ladies.  Ugh,  what  a  gloomy 
trade  we're  in,  aren't  we,  Mr.  Stevens?" 

* '  This  is  the  line  of  talk  that  gets  the  busi- 
ness. ' '  He  spoke  earnestly,  tapping  the  fold- 
ers. ' '  You  can 't  make  papa  dig  up  premiums 
for  forty  or  fifty  years  unless  you  first  scare 
him  and  scare  him  blue  about  his  family. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

c '  And  what  I  came  for  is — well,  will  you — 
would  you  just  as  soon  help  me  get  up  some 
more  of  these?" 

' '  You  mean  work  with  you  on  them  ? ' '  She 
was  truly  surprised. 

"Exactly." 

She  hesitated  and  then  she  said  it  was  im- 
possible, but  that  she  appreciated  his  kind 
cc  Tipliment,  was  flattered  by  it  and  thanked 
hi  i  deeply,  deeply.  For,  of  course,  she  real- 
ize '  that  Mr.  Stevens  was  one  of  the  very 

90 


A  Sentimental  Journey 

best  men  in  town  at  that  sort  of  work  and  she 
was  afraid  she  couldn't  possibly  be  of  any 
real  use  to  him. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all;"  he  was  talking 
business  now  and  waved  aside  her  objections 
with  his  customary  confidence.  Everybody 
always  objected  to  his  plans  for  them  when 
he  began  talking,  but  in  the  end  he  was  apt 
to  change  their  minds.  That  was  why  he  was 
considered  a  premier  solicitor.  "You've  a 
clear  head  and  a  good  ear  for  words,  that's 
what's  needed,  and " 

"But—      ''  she  tried  to  interrupt. 

' l  And  ideas,  that 's  the  point,  ideas.  You  're 
clever. ' ' 

'  '  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

' '  I  don 't  think  so ;  I  know. ' ' 

"I'm  flattered,"  she  said  firmly.  "But  no 
—really." 

"Well,  I  won't  take  that  for  a  definite  an- 
swer yet. ' '  Of  course  not.  He  never  did.  * ' 1 
want  you  to  think  it  over.  I  have  the  utmost 
confidence  in  the  scheme  and  your  ability  to 
carry  it  out.  You  can  tell  me  Monday  in 
the  office  what  you  decide." 

"I  can  tell  you  now,  Mr.  Stevens." 


91 


Rebellion 

He  rose.  "  Think  it  over  anyway.  You 
may  change  your  mind. ' ' 

She  rose,  too,  not  encouraging  him  to  stay. 

"Miss  Connor, "  he  spoke  gravely,  "there 
was  something  else  I  came  to  ask  you.  I'd 
like  to  know  you  personally  as  well  as  in  a 
business  way,  if  you'd  just  as  soon.  May  I 
come  to  see  you  now  and  then?" 

She  did  not  answer.  She  saw  that  it  count- 
ed with  him.  He  seemed  really  to  care.  She 
must  not  be  brusque  with  him.  He  must  not 
think  her  merely  light-minded,  unapprecia- 
tive  of  the  compliment  of  his  interest.  She 
must  tell  him  of  her  marriage. 

"Of  course,  if  you'd  rather  not  for  any 
reason,  why,  that  settles  it,"  there  was  a 
check  in  his  voice,  "and  we'll  say  no  more 
about  it. ' '  Still  she  did  not  answer.  He  held 
out  his  hand.  "Well,  good-bye,  then." 

"Good-bye." 

He  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"Mr.  Stevens." 

"Yes,  Miss  Connor." 

"I  think  you  ought  to  know  that  isn't  my 
name." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"Mrs.  Connor." 

92 


A  Sentimental  Journey 

"Mrs.  Connor?    Missis  Connor?" 

"Yes." 

He  came  down  into  the  room.  His  glance 
traveled  rapidly  to  the  four  corners,  like  a 
wild  animal  dodging  men  and  dogs.  He  had 
one  question  left,  one  chance  of  escape. 

"Are  you  a  widow!"  he  said. 

"No,  a  married  woman." 

Stevens  went  slowly  out  of  the  door  with- 
out replying.  The  woman  whom  he  loved  be- 
longed to  another  man.  It  was  like  the  end 
of  the  world. 


93 


VIII 

THE  LIFE  FOECE 

If  Mason  had  been  in  the  jeunesse  doree  he 
must  now  have  gone  to  Monte  Carlo  to  buck 
the  tiger  or  to  India  to  shoot  him. 

As  it  was,  he  smoked  all  night  and  turned 
up  at  the  office  half  an  hour  ahead  of  time 
in  a  voluble,  erratic  mood,  brought  about  by 
suppressing  so  much  excitement  within  him- 
self. If  he  had  known  how  to  tell  his  troubles 
to  a  friend  over  a  glass  of  beer  he  might  have 
had  an  easier  time  of  it  in  his  life.  But  he 
wasn't  that  sort.  He  took  things  hard  and 
kept  them  in. 

He  decided  that  the  best  thing  to  do  with 
his  sentiment  for  Georgia  was  to  strangle  it. 
Whenever  he  caught  himself  thinking  of  her, 
which  would  certainly  be  often  at  first,  he 
must  turn  his  mind  away.  He  must  avoid 
seeing  her ;  if  they  met  accidentally  he  would 
give  no  further  sign  than  a  curt  nod. 

94 


The  Life  Force 

He  remembered  the  farmers  used  to  say 
that  there  was  one  thing  to  do  with  Canada 
thistles — keep  them  under,  never  let  the  sun 
shine  on  them.  His  love  for  this  other  man's 
wife  was  like  a  thistle.  He  must  keep  it  un- 
der, never  let  the  sun  shine  on  it. 

He  did  it  thoroughly.  He  nodded  to  her  in 
the  most  indifferent  way  in  the  world  when 
they  happened  to  meet,  but  he  found  no  oc- 
casion to  stop  at  her  desk  to  chat  an  instant. 
Two  weeks  of  his  change  of  manner  began  to 
pique  her.  He  was  acting  in  a  rather  absurd 
way,  she  thought.  After  all  they  weren't 
lovers  who  had  quarreled,  but  simply  ac- 
quaintances, friends  after  a  fashion,  fellow 
workers.  Why  shouldn't  they  continue  to  be 
friends?  It  would  be  amusing  to  have  some 
one  besides  the  family  and  the  girls  to  talk  to. 

She  would  not  let  him  treat  her  in  this  stiff 
way  any  longer,  just  because  she  had  had  the 
bad  luck  to  marry  a  bad  man  years  before. 
What  rubbish  that  was.  And  what  self-con- 
sciousness on  his  part.  Men  had  a  very 
guilty  way  of  looking  at  things. 

They  met  quite  or  almost  quite  by  accident 
in  front  of  the  office  building  during  the  noon 


95 


Rebellion 

hour  of  the  following  day.  He  was  about  to 
pass  without  stopping. 

' '  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Stevens  ? ' '  Her  voice 
was  quite  distinct. 

So  he  turned  and  lifted  his  hat.  "How  do 
you  do  ? ' ' 

She  did  not  precisely  move  toward  him,  but 
she  did  so  contrive  the  pause  that  it  was  up 
to  him,  if  he  weren't  to  be  boorish,  to  stop 
for  a  moment  and  speak  with  her. 

She  threw  a  disarming  candor  into  her  first 
question.  "Is  there  any  particular  reason, " 
said  she,  "why  we  are  no  longer  friends  1" 

"Friends?" 

"Yes.  YouVe  been  frowning  at  me  for 
about  three  weeks  and  I  haven't  the  least  idea 
how  I've  offended  you." 

He  did  not  answer  immediately  and  his  ex- 
pression hardened. 

"There,  you're  doing  it  now,"  said  she  with 
apparent  perplexity.  ' t  Why  I ' ' 

"You  know,"  he  spoke  doggedly. 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Yes  you  do,  too,"  he  answered  curtly  and 
roughly.  "You  do." 

"Just  as  you  please."  She  turned  from 
him,  apparently  offended  by  his  tone,  slightly 

96 


The  Life  Force 

nodded  and  walked  slowly  away.  She  was  of 
medium  height,  no  more  than  that,  and  slen- 
der. A  brute  of  a  man  bumped  her  with  his 
shoulder  as  he  passed  her. 

Stevens  waited  for  the  brute  of  a  man,  dug 
his  elbow  into  his  ribs  and  overtook  her  at  the 
Madison  Street  corner. 

4 'Miss — Mrs.  Connor,  I  didn't  mean  to  be 
rude." 

4 'You  were  a  little,  you  know." 

"Will  you  excuse  me?" 

"Why,  of  course." 

He  didn't  quite  know  what  to  do  next,  so 
he  awkwardly  extended  his  hand.  She  took  it 
with  a  man-to-man  shake  of  wiping  out  the 
score,  which  completely  demolished  his  cyn- 
ical attitude  in  reference  to  platonic  friend- 
ship. 

"Where  were  you  bound  for?"  he  asked. 

"Nowhere,  just  strolling.  Over  to  the  lake 
front  for  a  breath  of  air. ' ' 

"May  I  walk  along?" 

"Surely." 

On  their  way  back  they  reflected  that  they 
had  been  without  lunch,  so  they  stopped  at  a 
drug  store  for  a  malted  milk  with  egg,  choco- 
late flavor,  nutmeg  on  top. 

97 


Rebellion 

They  touched  their  glasses  together. 

"It's  very  nourishing,"  said  he  with  won- 
derment. 

"Very,"  she  replied,  delightedly;  "very." 

They  returned  to  their  work  in  that  state  of 
high  elation  induced  by  interviews  such  as 
theirs,  wherein  the  spoken  words  mean  twenty 
times  what  they  say — and  more. 


98 


IX 

THE  PKETENDEES 

Georgia  and  Mason  did  not  overpass  the 
outward  signs  and  boundaries  of  platonism, 
learning  to  avoid  not  merely  evil,  but  the  ap- 
pearance of  evil.  When  they  met  in  the 
hundred-eyed  office  they  were  casual. 

During  the  autumn  they  took  long  walks 
together  every  Sunday.  There  had  been  a 
dry  spell  that  year,  lasting  with  hardly  a 
break  from  the  fore  part  of  June,  which 
baked  the  land  and  sucked  out  the  wells  and 
put  the  Northern  woods  in  danger  of  their 
lives.  The  broad  corn  leaves  withered  yellow 
and  the  husbandmen  of  the  great  valley  pro- 
tested that  the  ears  were  but  "HP  nubbins 
with  three  inches  of  nuthin'  at  the  tips,  taper- 
in'  down  to  a  point,  and  where  '11  we  get  our 
seed  next  spring  ?" 

When  the  huge  downpour  came  at  last 
and  by  its  miracle  saved  the  crop  which  had 
been  given  up  for  lost  a  fortnight  since, 

99 


Rebellion 

Mason  cursed  the  day,  for  it  fell  on  the  first 
day  of  the  week  and  cost  him,  item,  one  walk 
and  talk  with  Georgia  Connor.  She  stood  so 
near  his  eyes  as  to  hide  from  his  sight  a  bil- 
lion bushels  parching  in  the  valley — though 
he  was  country  bred. 

To  her  their  Sundays  together  brought  not 
a  joy  as  definite  as  his,  but  rather  a  sense  of 
contentment,  of  relief  from  the  precision  of 
the  other  days  of  her  week.  It  pleased  her  to 
wander  to  the  big  aviary  and  look  at  the  con- 
dors and  cockatoos  and  wonder  about  South 
America  where  they  came  from,  then  to  stroll 
slowly  over  to  the  animals  and  have  a  vague 
difference  of  opinion  with  him  about  whether 
a  lion  could  whip  a  tiger. 

She  thought  so  because  the  lion  was  the 
king  of  beasts,  but  Mason  didn't,  because 
he'd  read  of  a  fight  where  it  had  been  tried. 
Once  he  even  grew  a  trifle  heated  because 
she  wouldn't  listen  to  reason  and  fact  and 
stuck  to  the  lion  because  he'd  been  called 
the  king  of  beasts,  whereas  all  naturalists 
knew  the  elephant  and  the  gorilla  and  the 

rhinoc There  she  interrupted  him  with 

a  laugh  and  called  him  a  boy  and  too  literal. 

Every  Sunday  they  had  this  same  dispute 

100 


The  Pretenders 

until  finally  they  both  learned  to  laugh  about 
it  and  made  it  a  joke  between  them,  and 
she  told  him  he  was  doing  much  better.  They 
walked  by  the  inside  lake  and  wondered  if 
the  wild  ducks  and  geese  on  the  wooded  isle 
liked  to  have  to  stay  there,  and  they  took 
lunch  when  they  got  good  and  ready,  perhaps 
not  until  two  or  three  or  even  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon. 

She  always  went  home  for  supper,  but 
often  she  came  out  again  afterwards,  and 
took  the  car  down  town  to  a  Sunday  Evening 
Ethical  Society  which  foregathered  in  an  old- 
fashioned  theatre  building. 

There  was  almost  always  some  well- 
known  speaker  whose  name  was  often  in  the 
papers,  perhaps  a  professor  or  a  radical 
Ohio  Mayor  or  a  labor  lawyer,  to  address 
them  on  up-to-date  topics  like  Municipal  Own- 
ership in  Europe  or  the  Eussian  Eevolution 
or  the  Androcentric  World,  which  showed 
women  had  as  much  right  to  vote  as  men,  or 
non-resistance,  a  kind  of  Christianity  that 
wasn't  practical.  Stevens  didn't  like  that 
lecture  much. 

Jane  Addams  spoke  once  about  the  chil- 
dren that  lived  in  her  neighborhood.  He 

101 


Rebellion 

thought  her  talk  the  best  of  all;  so  did 
Georgia.  He  said  to  her  that  Jane  Addams 
was  as  much  of  a  saint  as  any  of  those  old- 
timers  that  were  burnt  and  pulled  to  pieces 
and  fed  to  lions,  and  a  useful  kind  of  a  saint 
as  well,  because  she  helped  children  instead 
of  just  believing  in  something  or  other. 
Georgia  didn't  answer  his  remark  at  the  time, 
but  nearly  half  an  hour  later  as  she  was  bid- 
ding him  good  night  she  had  him  repeat  it 
to  her,  and  the  next  day  she  told  him  that 
what  he  had  said  about  Miss  Addams  was 
very  interesting. 

They  had  organ  music  at  these  meetings 
and  a  collection,  so  that  he  felt  it  was  the 
next  thing  to  going  to  church.  But  Georgia 
in  arguing  out  the  matter  with  herself  con- 
cluded that  there  was  so  little  religion  in 
the  services  that  in  attending  them  she  vio- 
lated the  Church's  law  against  worshiping 
with  heretics  hardly  more  than  if  she  went  to 
a  political  meeting.  She  would  never  go  to  a 
regular  Protestant  service  with  Mason,  even 
if  he  asked  her.  She  made  up  her  mind 
firmly  on  that  point.  So  perhaps  it  was  as 
well  he  didn't  ask  her. 

Her  waking  memories  of  Jim  were  now 

102 


The  Pretenders 

much  fainter  and  dimmer.  She  tried  not  to 
think  of  him  at  all.  She  refused  to  let  her 
mother  or  Al  speak  his  name  or  make  allu- 
sion to  him.  At  the  beginning,  just  after  his 
departure,  mama  had  harped  on  the  sub- 
ject until  she  thought  it  would  drive  her 
crazy. 

Over  and  over  and  over  again  she  tra- 
versed the  same  ground — about  his  being  her 
husband,  and  Christian  charity,  and  one  more 
trial,  and  the  disgrace  of  it,  and  that  it  was 
the  first  time  such  a  thing  ever  happened  in 
the  family. 

Finally  in  self-defense  and  to  save  herself 
from  being  upset  every  night  when  she  was 
tired  and  worn  out  anyway,  she  told  her 
mother  that  the  next  time  she  mentioned 
Jim's  name  she  would  leave  the  room.  And 
she  only  had  actually  to  do  this  three  times 
before  poor  mama  succumbed,  as  she  al- 
ways did  when  she  was  met  firmly.  However, 
she  still  managed  to  say  a  volume  in  Jim's 
favor  with  her  deep  sighs  and  her  "Oh, 
Georgia 's,"  but  Georgia  always  pretended 
she  didn't  know  the  meaning  of  such  signs 
and  manifestations.  Of  course,  especially  at 
the  beginning,  her  husband's  face  often  came 

103 


Rebellion 

unbidden  between  her  and  her  page,  but  she 
gathered  up  her  will  each  time  to  banish  it 
again,  and  it's  surprising  what  a  woman 
can  do  if  she  only  makes  up  her  mind  and 
sticks  to  it. 

But  her  dreams  were  the  trouble.  Jim 
would  enter  them.  She  didn't  know  how  to 
keep  him  out.  And  he  always  came,  some- 
times two  or  three  nights  in  succession,  to 
bring  her  pain. 

She  usually  appointed  her  Sunday  rendez- 
vous for  an  hour  before  noon  at  Shake- 
speare's statue  in  the  Park,  and  sailed  off 
cheerily  in  her  best  bib  and  tucker  to  meet 
Mason,  leaving  behind  her  a  fine  trail  of  ex- 
cuses, a  complete  new  set  each  week,  to  ex- 
plain to  mama  why  she  couldn't  go  to  mass. 
On  this  particular  morning  she  said  she  had 
a  date  with  a  girl-friend  from  the  office. 

With  the  best  intention  in  the  world  she 
was  never  on  time  and  always  kept  him  wait- 
ing. She  was  so  unalterably  punctual  for  six 
days  a  week  that  the  seventh  day  it  was 
simply  impossible. 

Stevens  usually  became  slightly  irritated 
during  these  few  minutes — what  business 
man  wouldn't? — and  referred  to  his  watch 

104 


The  Pretenders 

at  hundred-second  intervals,  determined  to 
ask  her  once  and  for  all  why  she  wasted  so 
much  time  in  tardiness.  But  when  finally  he 
distinguished  her  slim  little  figure  in  the 
Sunday  throng  that  was  streaming  toward 
him,  his  impatience  left  not  a  wrack  behind. 

They  started  gayly  northward,  bantering 
each  other  in  urban  repartee.  As  they  passed 
gray  Columbus  Hospital  their  mood  swerved 
suddenly  and  they  talked  of  sickness  and 
death  and  immortality. 

Her  belief  was  orthodox,  but  it  did  not  hold 
her  as  vividly  as  it  held  the  old  folk  in  the 
old  days.  Had  she  lived  nearer  to  the  mira- 
cles of  the  sun  going  down  in  darkness  and 
coming  up  in  light;  or  thunderstorms  and 
young  oats  springing  green  out  of  black,  with 
wild  mustard  interspersed  among  them  like 
deeds  of  sin;  of  the  frost  coming  out  of  the 
ground;  and  the  leaves  dying  and  the  trees 
sleeping;  she  would  perhaps  have  lived  near- 
er to  the  miracles  of  bread  and  wine,  of 
Christ  sleeping  that  the  world  may  wake. 

But  she  lived  in  a  place  of  obvious  cause 
and  effect.  When  the  sun  went  down,  the 
footlights  came  up  for  you  if  you  had  a 
ticket,  and  man's  miracle  banished  God's 

105 


Rebellion 

even  though  you  might  be  in  the  flying 
balcony  and  the  tenor  almost  a  block  away. 
Thunderstorms  meant  that  it  was  reckless 
to  telephone;  oats,  wheat  and  corn,  some- 
thing they  controlled  on  the  board  of  trade ; 
the  melting  of  the  snows  showed  the  city 
hall  was  weak  on  the  sewer  side — what  else 
could  you  expect  of  politicians! — the  dying 
leaves  presaged  the  end  of  the  Riverview 
season  and  young  APs  excitement  over  the 
world's  series. 

Living  in  the  country  puts  a  God  in  one's 
thoughts,  for  man  did  not  make  the  country 
and  its  changes,  yet  they  are  there.  Farmers 
pray  for  rain  or  its  cessation  according  to 
their  needs.  To  live  in  the  city  is  to  diminish 
God  and  the  seeming  daily  want  of  Him,  for 
man  built  his  own  city  of  steel  and  steam  and 
stone,  unhelped,  did  he  not? 

God  may  have  made  the  pansies,  but  He 
did  not  make  "the  loop."  His  majesty  is 
hidden  from  its  people  by  their  self-suffic- 
ing skill,  and  they  turn  their  faces  from  Him. 
West-siders  do  not  pray  for  universal  trans- 
fers. 

Never  had  Georgia  questioned  her  faith. 
Its  extent  remained  as  great  as  ever.  She 

106 


The  Pretenders 

had  consciously  yielded  no  part  of  her  creed. 
But  its  living  quality  was.  infected  by  the 
daily  realism  of  her  life,  as  spring  ice  is 
honeycombed  throughout  with  tiny  fissures 
before  its  final  sudden  disappearance. 

So  she  talked  to  Stevens  of  her  convictions, 
but  in  a  calm  dispassionate  way,  without  emo- 
tional fervor. 

Stevens '  great-grandparents  whenever 
they  referred  to  the  Romanist  Church,  which 
was  often,  spoke  of  "the  scarlet  woman "  or 
< '  the  whore  of  Babylon. ' '  His  grandparents, 
products  of  a  softer,  weaker  generation, 
stopped  at  adjectives,  "  papist, "  "  Jesuit- 
ical, "  "  idolatrous. " 

His  parents  receded  still  further  from  the 
traditions  of  the  Pilgrims.  Indeed  his  father, 
being  a  popular  horse  doctor,  kept  his  mouth 
shut  altogether  on  the  subject,  and  his  mother 
seldom  went  beyond  remarking  that  there 
was  considerable  superstition  in  the  Catholic 
service  and  too  much  form  to  suit  her. 

As  for  the  son  himself,  he  could  as  soon 
have  quarreled  about  the  rights  and  wrongs 
of  the  Mexican  war  as  he  would  about  re- 
ligion. He  wasn't  especially  interested  in 
either.  He  thought  there  was  a  lot  of  flim- 

107 


Rebellion 

flam  for  women  in  all  religion,  especially  in 
Catholicism.  But  it  was  an  amiable  weak- 
ness of  the  sex,  like  corsets.  So  he  let 
Georgia  run  on,  explaining  her  faith,  without 
interruption. 

Then  most  wretched  luck  befell  them. 
Georgia  looked  up  from  the  tips  of  her  toes, 
being  vaguely  engaged,  as  she  talked,  in  step- 
ping on  each  large  pebble  in  the  gravel  path 
and  her  eyes  rested  squarely  upon  her 
mother.  Mrs.  Talbot  mottled;  Georgia 
blushed. 

All  progress  was  temporarily  arrested; 
then  the  older  woman  puffed  out  her  chest 
and  waddled  away  with  all  the  dignity  at  her 
summons.  But  she  could  not  resist  the  Par- 
thian shot — what  Celt  can? — and  she  turned 
to  throw  back  over  her  shoulder,  " Who's 
your  girl-friend,  Georgia?"  Her  teeth  clicked 
and  she  continued  her  departure. 

Stevens  realized  that  there  had  been  a  con- 
tretemps of  some  sort  and  that  it  was  his 
place,  as  a  man  of  the  world,  to  laugh  it  off. 

" Who's  the  old  pouter  pigeon?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"Mama/1 

"Oh!" 

108 


The  Pretenders 

Feeling  that  candor  was  now  thrust  upon 
her,  Georgia  proceeded  to  explain  to  Stevens 
that  she  had  never  explained  about  him  to  her 
mother,  for  mama  couldn't  possibly  under- 
stand, being  old-fashioned  and  prejudiced  in 
some  regards. 

"So  you've  made  me  fib  for  you,"  she 
finished.  "Aren't  you  ashamed?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  in  truth  much  gratified  by 
her  clandestineness. 

"But  what  I  don't  see  is ,"  he  began, 

then  broke  off. 

"Is  what?" 

"Is  why  you  should  be  so  disturbed  about 
your  mother's  knowing," 

"I've  told  you — for  the  sake  of  peace  and 
a  quiet  life." 

"But  what  about  your  husband?"  He 
blurted  it  out  suddenly,  the  word  which  had 
crucified  him  since  his  one  and  only  visit  to 
her  home ;  the  word  which  he  had  kept  dumb 
between  them  until  now.  "What  about  him? 
Doesn't  he  mind?" 

"He  left  me  six  months  ago.  You  never 
supposed  I  would  take  a  man's  bread  and — 
fool  him,  did  you,  Mason?"  She  called  him 
by  his  name  for  the  first  time. 

109 


Rebellion 

"I  didn't  know,"  he  muttered,  "I've  been 
to  hell  and  back  thinking  of  it." 

"How  did  you  suppose  it  would  come 
out?"  she  asked,  fascinated  objectively  by 
the  drama  of  her  life. 

"I  felt  we  were  playing  bean-bag  with 
dynamite — and  we  ought  to  quit — made  up 
my  mind — while  I  was  waiting  for  you  this 
morning  to  tell  you  this  must  be  the  last 
time,  because  we  were  drifting  straight 
into  "  He  paused. 

"Into  what?"  There  was  a  touch  of  gen- 
tlest irony  in  her  tone. 

"Into  trouble,  lots  of  it."  There  was  a 
touch  of  apology  in  his. 

"And  you  didn't  want  trouble,  lots  of  it?" 
Her  irony  was  not  less.  "At  least  not  on 
my  account?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  what  would  be  best 
for  all  of  us.  I  was  trying  to  do  the  square 
thing — the  greatest  happiness  for  the  great- 
est number."  There  was  a  pause,  unsympa- 
thetic. "Wasn't  that  right?"  he  ended  with 
no  great  confidence. 

"Why,  of  course,  perfectly  right,"  she  as- 
sented heartily.  "It  shows  consideration. 
You  considered  the  case  systematically  from 

110 


The  Pretenders 

all  sides.  Yours,  and  mine,  and  my  bus- 
band's,  and  the  rest  of  the  family's,  and  the 
rest  of  yours,  too,  I  suppose,  didn't  you?" 
She  looked  extremely  efficient  and  spoke  in 
her  business  voice  with  a  little  snap  to  her 
words. 

She  was  quite  unfair  in  taking  this  tack 
with  unhappy  Stevens,  who,  however  often 
he  thought  of  his  duty  in  these  twisted  prem- 
ises, would  surely  not  have  done  it  if  she 
beckoned  him  away.  For  she  owned  the  only 
two  hands  in  the  world  which  he  wanted  to 
hold. 

A  woman,  however,  prefers  to  be  the  cus- 
todian of  her  own  morals  and  it  gratifies 
her  at  most  no  more  than  slightly  to  find 
that  her  lover  has  been  plotting  with  himself 
to  preserve  her  virtue.  It  is  for  the  man  to 
ask  and  for  her  to  deny,  sadly  but  sweetly — 
and  she  doesn't  care  to  be  anticipated.  Espe- 
cially when  she  is  self -perceptibly  interested. 

"But  since  you  are  already  separated 
from  -  -" 

"Yes,  that  makes  it  pleasanter  all  around, 
doesn't  it?"  she  led  him  on  most  treacher- 
ously. 

"Why,  of  course — that's  what  I  was  say- 
Ill 


Rebellion 

ing,"  he  blundered.  "Now  I  can  ask  you 
to " 

"Mason,  I've  a  frightful  headache,  the  sun 
perhaps — and  I  think  I  will  go  home  and  lie 
down,  if  you  don't  mind." 

He  looked  up  in  some  amazement  at  the 
lord  of  day  half  hidden  by  the  haze  in  his 
November  station,  and  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  him  that  woman  is  a  various  and  mutable 
proposition  always. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  anyway?" 

"Nothing,"  she  responded  with  deliberate 
nnconvincingness,  "nothing  in  the  world,  but 
a  headache. ' '  She  held  out  her  hand.  * '  Don 't 
bother  to  come  with  me.  We  might  be  seen. 
Good-bye."  And  she  was  off. 

It  was  a  winding  gravel  path  and  she  was 
lost  behind  a  curving  hedge  before  he  started 
in  pursuit.  She  quickened  her  pace  when  she 
heard  his  step  behind  and  it  was  almost  a 
walking  race  before  he  overtook  her. 

"Georgia,"  he  exclaimed,  somewhat 
ruffled  by  her  unreasonableness.  She  neither 
turned  her  head  nor  answered. 

"Georgia!"  he  repeated  more  loudly.  Then 
he  took  her  wrist  and  forcibly  arrested  her. 


112 


The  Pretenders 

" Please  let  me  go,"  she  requested  with 
supreme  dignity,  "you  are  hurting  me." 

"Not  until  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say. 
Will  you  marry  me  f ' ' 

"Marry  you?"  She  dropped  her  eyes  be- 
fore his  frowning  ones.  The  shoulders  which 
had  been  thrown  so  squarely  back  seemed  to 
yield  like  her  will  and  drooped  forward  into 
softer  lines. 

"Yes,"  he  tightened  his  hold  on  her  wrist, 
"will  you?" 

"I  am  a  Catholic." 

"But  isn't  there  some  way  around  that?" 
Your  man  of  business  believes  there  is  some 
way  around  everything. 

"No.  Divorce  and  remarriage  aren't  per- 
mitted to  us." 

"Don't  they  ever  annul  a  marriage?" 

"Not  if  it  has  been  marriage."  A  look  of 
misery  came  over  his  face.  She  perceived  it 
and  went  steadily  on.  "I  had  a  child  once — 
that  died." 

He  dropped  her  hand,  unconsciously  to 
himself,  but  she  felt  it  as  a  clear  signal  be- 
tween them. 

"You  see  how  little  you  have  known  me," 


113 


Rebellion 

she  said  softly.  "Poor  old  fellow,  I'm  sorry. 
Too  bad  it  had  to  end  like  this."  Her  eyes 
were  now  swimming  in  tears  which  she  did 
not  try  to  conceal.  "Don't  you  see,  dear,  that 
is  why  I  kept  putting  off  telling  you  things 
about  my  affairs,  and  why  I  had  tried  to  keep 
it — friendship,  because  I  knew  when  we  came 
as  far  as  this  we  would  have  to  stop." 

"It  will  never  stop,"  he  said  tensely, 
"never." 

Eesponse  seemed  to  sweep  through  her 
suddenly,  bewildering  her  by  its  unexpected 
strength. 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  assented  slowly,  "if — 
if  we — dare." 

"Georgia,"  he  pleaded,  "you  know  that 


"Yes,"  in  a  whisper,  "I  know." 

"And  do  you  care,  too!" 

She  looked  up,  and  her  answer  was  plain 
for  him  to  read. 

"More  than  you  will  ever  know,  Mason," 
she  said. 

"Georgia,  are  you  a  devout  Catholic? 
Does  it  mean  all  of  life  to  you  here  and  here- 
after?" 

"No,  not  very  devout.  Nothing  like  mother, 

114 


The  Pretenders 

for  instance.  I  have  grown  very  careless 
about  some  things. " 

"  Would  you  always  be  governed  by  the 
teaching  of  the  Church  in  this  matter — al- 
ways— never  decide  for  yourself  1" 

"When  it  came  to  such  a  big  thing,"  she 
said  slowly,  "I  don't  think  I'd  dare  dis- 
obey." 

"What  are  you  afraid  of — future  punish- 
ment f ' 9 

"Why,  yes,  partly  that,"  she  smiled;  "it 
isn't  a  very  jolly  prospect,  you  know." 

He  was  truly  astonished.  He  supposed 
that  everybody  nowadays,  even  Catholics, 
had  tacitly  agreed  to  give  up  hell.  Hell  was 
too  ridiculously  unreasonable  to  be  believed 
in  any  more. 

"Georgia,"  he  asked,  "have  you  ever 
looked  much  at  the  stars?" 

"Why,  yes;  once  in  awhile.  Last  Sunday 
evening  at  Bismarck  Garden  Al  and  I  found 
the  dipper — it  was  just  as  plain — is  that 
what  you  mean?  Of  course  I  don't  pretend 
to  be  much  of  an  astronomer. ' ' 

"Some  nights,"  he  said,  "when  it's  clear 
I  go  up  on  the  roof  and  lie  on  my  back,  and, 


115 


Rebellion 

well,  it's  a  great  course  in  personal  modesty. 
Some  of  those  stars,  those  little  points  of 
light,  are  as  much  bigger  than  our  whole 
world  as  an  elephant  is  bigger  than  a  mos- 
quito, and  live  as  much  longer. ' ' 

"Of  course,"  she  answered,  "we  know  that 
everything  is  bigger  than  people  used  to 
think,  but  still  couldn't  God  have  made  it  all, 
just  the  same?" 

"Do  you  honestly  believe,"  he  rejoined, 
speaking  very  earnestly,  intent  on  shaking 
her  faith,  if  that  were  possible,  "that  Who- 
ever or  Whatever  was  big  enough  to  put  the 
stars  in  the  sky  is  small  enough  to  take  re- 
venge forever  on  a  tiny  little  molecule  like 
you — or  me?  Do  you  honestly  suppose  that 
after  you  are  dead,  perhaps  a  long  time  dead, 
this  mighty  God  will  hunt  for  you  through 
all  the  heavens,  and  when  he  has  found  you, 
you  poor  little  atom  of  a  dead  dot,  that  he 
will  torment  and  pester  you  forever  and 
ever  because  you  had  once  for  a  space  no 
longer  than  the  wink  of  an  eye  acted  accord- 
ing to  the  nature  he  gave  you?  If  that  is 
your  God,  he  has  put  nothing  in  his  universe 
as  cruel  as  Himself." 


116 


The  Pretenders 

She  frowned  in  a  puzzled  way  for  a  few 
seconds,  looking  at  him  with  an  odd  little 
wide-eyed  stare,  then  shook  her  head  slowly. 

'Yes,"  said  he  in  answer.  "Some  day 
yon  will  take  your  life  in  yonr  own  hands 
and  use  it.  You're  not  the  stuff  they  make 
nuns  out  of.  There's  too  much  vitality  in 
you. 

"How  old  are  you?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"Twenty-six." 

"Twenty-six  and  ready  to  quit!  I  don't 
believe  it." 

"You  don't  understand,  Mason,"  she 
answered,  * l  you  can 't.  You  're  not  a  Catholic. 
Catholicism  is  different  from  all  other  creeds. 
It  is  not  just  something  you  think  and  argue 
about,  but  it  has  you — you  belong  to  it;  it  is 
as  much  a  part  of  you  as  your  blood  and 
bones."  There  was  a  finality  in  her  voice,  a 
resignation  of  self,  which  bespoke  the  vast 
accumulated  will  of  the  Church  operating 
upon  and  through  her. 

Stevens  knew  suddenly  that  she  was  not 
an  individualized  woman  in  the  same  sense 
that  he  was  an  individualized  man,  with  the 
private  possibility  of  doing  what  he  pleased 
so  long  as  he  did  not  interfere  with  the  pri- 

117 


Rebellion 

vate  possibilities  of  others;  he  realized  that 
in  certain  important  intimate  matters  such  as 
the  one  which  had  arisen  between  them  she 
was  without  power  of  decision,  the  decision 
having  been  made  for  her  many  centuries 
ago ;  and  he  felt  the  awe  which  comes  to  every 
man  when  first  he  is  confronted  by  the 
Eoman  Catholic  Church. 

"You  mean  there  is  no  way  out  of  it — but 
death? — your  husband's  death !"  His  self- 
confidence  seemed  to  have  departed  as  if  he, 
too,  had  met  fate  in  the  road. 

"Yes/'  she  answered  gently,  "that  is  the 
only  way."  And  then  she  smiled  with  some 
little  effort,  but  still  she  smiled,  for  she  de- 
tested gloom  on  her  day  off.  "Oh,  Mason," 
said  she,  "why  wasn't  grandpa  a  Swede!" 

He  looked  at  her  with  amazement  and  not 
without  a  trace  of  disapprobation,  for  her 
eyes  were  dancing.  Was  she  actually  making 
jokes  about  his  misery — to  say  nothing  of 
hers — if  indeed  she  felt  any?  He  was  learn- 
ing more  about  women  every  minute. 

Now  she  was  practically  giggling.  He 
frowned  deeper  and  sighed.  Perhaps,  per- 
haps everything  was  for  the  best,  after  all. 
He  might  as  well  tell  her  so,  too.  No  reason 

118 


The  Pretenders 

to  make  himself  wretched  for  something  she 
seemed  to  think  hilariously  humorous. 

' 4  Well,  Georgia,  I  must  say, ' '  he  began  por- 
tentously— 'twas  the  voice  of  the  husband — 
almost.  She  could  hear  him  complain. 
Whereat  she  simply  threw  back  her  head  and 
laughed  again. 

He  noticed,  as  he  had  often  noticed,  that 
her  strong  little  teeth  were  white  and  regular, 
that  her  positive  little  nose  was  straight  and 
slender,  and  the  laughter  creases  about  her 
eyes  reminded  him  of  the  time  she  thought  it 
such  fun  to  be  caught  in  Eavinia  Park  in  the 
rain  without  an  umbrella. 

So  presently  he  tempered  his  frown,  then 
put  it  away  altogether,  and  his  eyes  twinkled 
and  he  turned  the  corners  of  his  mouth  up 
instead  of  down. 

"Oh,  dear  me,"  he  mocked,  half  in  fun  and 
half  not,  "as  the  fellow  says,  'we  can't  live 
with  'em  and  we  can't  live  without  'em.'  " 

But  she,  who  had  been  reading  him  like  a 
book  in  plain  print,  asked,  "Come,  tell  aunty 
your  idea  of  a  jolly  Sunday  in  the  park  with 
your  best  girl.  To  sit  her  on  a  bench  and 
make  her  listen  while  you  mourn  for  the 
universe?" 

119 


Rebellion 

"But  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it!" 
he  asked  solemnly,  "that's  what  I  want  to 
know." 

"Do?"  she  responded  with  a  certain  gay 
definiteness,  "do  nothing." 

"You  mean  not  see  each  other  any  more  at 
all  ? "  he  asked  desperately.  '  '  I  absolutely  re- 
fuse." 

"No,  silly,  of  course  I  don't  mean  that. 
We  '11  go  on  just  as  before,  friends,  comrades, 
pals." 

"When  we  love  each  other — when  we've 
told  each  other  we  love  each  other?" 

"Certainly.  What's  that  got  to  do  with 
it!" 

"It  would  be  the  merest  pretense,"  he  de- 
clared solemnly. 

"Then  let's  begin  the  pretense  now,  and 
go  up  and  throw  a  peanut  at  the  elephant. 
Come  along."  She  hooked  her  arm  into  his. 
Her  levity  of  behavior  undoubtedly  got  past 
him  at  times. 

"Georgia" — he  was  once  more  on  the 
verge  of  remonstrance  — "if  you  cared  as  you 
say  you  do,  if  you  loved  me  as  I  1 " 

She  unhooked  her  arm  and  now  she  was 
serious  enough. 

120 


The  Pretenders 

" Don't  you  understand, ' '  she  said,  "what 
I  mean?  We  can't  talk  about  that  any  more." 

"You  mean  not  at  all?" 

"Precisely." 

"But  what  if  I  can't  conceal  the  most  im- 
portant thing  in  my  whole  life?  What  if  I 
can't  smirk  and  smile  about  it?  What  if  I 
am  not  as  good  an  actor  as  you?  What  if  I 
can't  pretend?  What  then?"  He  was  very, 
very  fierce  with  her. 

"Then  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go  home." 
They  stood  irresolute,  facing  each  other, 
neither  wishing  to  carry  it  too  far. 

' l  Not  that  that  would  be  much  fun Oh, 

come,  don't  be  silly — let's  go  attack  the  ele- 
phant. What  must  be,  must  be,  you  know." 

She  paused  to  allow  him  time  to  yield  with 
grieved  dignity,  then  she  headed  for  the 
animal  house ;  he  trailed  in  silence  about  half 
a  step  behind  her  during  the  first  hundred 
yards,  but  finally  sighed  and  surrendered 
and  then  fell  into  step  and  pretended  during 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon  with  quite  decent 
success. 

So  his  education  began.  And  though  he 
was  by  no  means  pliable  material,  she  man- 


121 


Rebellion 

aged,  being  vastly  the  more  expert,  to  keep 
him  pretending  with  hardly  a  lapse  through- 
out the  winter. 

She  found  it  more  difficult,  however,    to 
keep  herself  pretending. 


122 


MOXEY 

Moxey  was  a  Jew  boy  and  a  catcher.  His 
last  name  ended  in  sky,  and  he  came  from  the 
West-side  ghetto.  His  father  and  mother 
came  from  the  pale  in  Bussia  when  Moxey '& 
elder  brother  Steve  was  in  arms  and  before 
Moxey  himself  appeared. 

Moxey  would  have  been  captain  of  the 
Prairie  View  Semi-Pro.  B.  B.  Club,  if  merit 
ruled  the  world.  But  there  was  the  crime  of 
nineteen  centuries  ago  against  him,  so  they 
made  McClaughrey  captain;  Georgia's  six- 
teen-year-old brother  Al  played  third  base. 

The  Prairie  Views  had  one  triumph  in  the 
morning,  it  being  Sunday,  the  day  for  two 
and  sometimes  three  games.  They  had  the 
use  of  one  of  the  diamonds  on  a  public  play- 
ground from  Donovan,  the  wise  cop. 

I  have  seen  Donovan  keep  peace  and  order 
among  eighteen  warring  lads  from  sixteen 
to  twenty  years  old  by  a  couple  of  looks,  a 

123 


Rebellion 

smile  and  a  silence.  When  there  was  money 
on  the  game,  too. 

There  has  been  good  material  wasted  in 
Donovan.  Properly  environed  and  taught  the 
language,  though  he  doesn't  depend  on  lan- 
guage very  much,  he  could  have  been  presid- 
ing officer  of  the  French  Chamber  of  Depu- 
ties— and  presided. 

It  was  the  ninth  inning,  last  half,  tie  score, 
two  out,  three  on,  with  two  and  three  on  the 
batter.  In  other  words,  the  precise  moment 
when  the  fictionist  is  allowed  to  step  in.  Mox- 
ey  up. 

He  fouled  off  a  couple,  the  coachers 
screeched;  the  umpire,  who  was  also  stake- 
holder, dripped  a  bit  freer  and  hoped  Dono- 
van would  stick  around  for  a  few  seconds 
longer. 

The  pitcher  took  a  short  wind-up  and  the 
ball,  which  seemed  to  start  for  the  platter, 
reached  Moxey  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
heart.  He  collapsed.  They  rallied  round  the 
umpire. 

"He  done  it  on  purpose — the  sheeny — he 
done  it  on  purpose,  I  tell  you — he  run  into 
it " 

1 '  Naw,  ye  're  a  liar ! ' ' 

124 


Moxey 

" Prove  it" 

" It's  a  dead  ball — take  your  base — come  in 
there,  youse,"  waving  to  the  man  on  third. 

"We  win.    Give  us  our  money." 

All  participated  but  Moxey,  who  lay  moan- 
ing on  the  ground  by  the  home  plate. 

Donovan  strolled  out  to  the  debate  and 
smiled  his  magic  smile.  "Take  yer  base," 
bawled  the  emboldened  ump,  and  waved  the 
run  in.  Al  got  five  dollars  for  the  day's  play- 
ing and  three  dollars  for  the  day's  betting, 
and  the  Prairie  Views  walked  off,  bats  con- 
spicuous on  shoulders,  yelling,  "Yah!"  at  the 
enemy. 

"Chee,"  said  Moxey  to  his  playmates  when 
they  reached  the  family  entrance,  "me  for 
the  big  irrigation,"  And  it  was  so. 

Moxey  shifted  his  foot,  called  his  little  cir- 
cle around  him  close  and  then  inserted  his 
dark,  fleshless  talon  into  his  baseball  shirt. 
' l  That  gave  me  an  awful  wallop  what  win  the 
game,"  he  said ;  "if  I  hadn't  slipped  me  little 
pad  in  after  the  eight',  it  might  a'  put  me 
away,  understand. ' '  He  took  out  his  protec- 
tion against  dead  balls,  an  ingenious  and  in- 
conspicuous felt  arrangement  to  be  worn 
under  the  left  arm  by  right-handed  batters. 

125 


Rebellion 

And  all  present  felt  again  that  there  had  been 
injustice  in  the  preference  of  McClaughrey. 

Whenever  they  asked  Moxey  where  he 
lived,  he  answered,  "West,"  and  let  it  go  at 
that.  He  always  turned  up  for  the  next  game, 
no  matter  how  often  plans  had  been  changed 
since  he  had  last  seen  any  of  them.  That  was 
all  they  knew  about  him.  He  caught  for 
them,  often  won  for  them,  drank  beer  with 
them  and  then  disappeared  completely  until 
the  next  half-holiday. 

Perhaps  Al  was  his  most  intimate  friend, 
and  Al  was  the  only  one  who  learned  his 
secret.  "Say,  Al,"  he  blurted  out  almost 
fiercely  one  evening,  "your  folks  is  Irish, 
ain't  they?" 

"  Irish- American, "  corrected  Al. 

"Well,  mine's  Yiddishers,  and  the  most 
Yiddish  Yiddishers  y'ever  see." 

Moxey  seemed  very  bitter  about  it  and  Al 
waited  for  more. 

"My  old  man,  well  "  Moxey  swal- 
lowed. It  seemed  to  Al  as  if  he  would  not  go 
on,  but  finally  it  came  out  with  a  rush.  "He 
pushes  a  cart — yes,  sir — honest  to  God,  he 
pushes  a  cart — I  thought  maybe  I  ought  to 
tell  you,  Al." 

126 


Moxey 

"He  does?"  It  was  a  shock  to  the  Irish- 
American,  which  showed  in  his  tone. 

"Yes,  sir,  he  does,"  Moxey  answered  de- 
fiantly, "and  if  you  don't  like  it — why — well, 
I  won't  say  nuthin'  ugly  to  you,  Al — you're 
only  like  the  rest.  S'long." 

Al  threw  his  arm  around  the  other's  shoul- 
der. "Forget  it,  Moxey."  Which  was  the 
only  oath  ever  taken  in  this  particular  David 
and  Jonathan  affair. 

Not  long  afterwards,  Moxey  proposed  to 
Al  attendance  at  a  prizefight  just  across  the 
State  line,  the  Illinois  laws  being  unfavora- 
ble to  such  exhibitions  of  manly  skill  or  bru- 
tality, whichever  it  is.  It  was  Al's  first  fight. 

They  boarded  a  special  train,  filled  with 
coarse  men  bent  upon  coarse  pleasure.  But 
then,  if  they  had  been  bent  upon  refined 
pleasure  they  wouldn't  have  been  coarse  or 
it  wouldn't  have  been  pleasure. 

The  prizefighting  question  illustrates  well 
the  gulf  between  the  social  and  the  individual 
conscience  and  demonstrates  that  the  whole 
is  sometimes  considerably  greater  than  the 
sum  of  its  parts.  Probably  eight  out  of  ten 
men  in  this  country  enjoy  seeing  two  hearty 
young  micks  belt  each  other  around  a  padded 

127 


Rebellion 

ring  with  padded  gloves.  But  they  hesitate 
to  come  out  in  the  open  and  proclaim  their 
enjoyment,  for  fear  of  writing  themselves 
down  brutes,  and  the  deepest  yearning  of  the 
American  people  at  the  present  day  is  to  be 
gentlemanly  and  ladylike. 

So  whenever  sparring  matches  are  pro- 
posed the  community  works  itself  up  into  a 
state  of  fake  indignation.  All  the  softer  and 
sweeter  elements  telegraph  the  Governor  and 
if  that  isn't  enough,  pray  for  him;  and  inas- 
much as  the  Governor  gets  no  immoral  sup- 
port on  the  other  side  from  those  who  are 
afraid  of  jeopardizing  their  gentlemanliness, 
he  yields,  and  appears  in  the  newspapers  as 
a  strong  man  who  dared  beard  the  sports, 
whereas,  he  was  really  a  frightened  politician 
who  didn't  dare  beard  the  Christian  En- 
deavorers. 

One  of  the  most  illuminating  essays  of  the 
late  and  great  William  James  concerned 
Chautauqua  Lake.  He  spent  a  week  at  that 
beautiful  camp,  where  sobriety  and  industry, 
intelligence  and  goodness,  orderliness  and 
ideality,  prosperity  and  cheerfulness  pervade 
the  air. 

There  were  popular  lectures  by  popular 

128 


Moxey 

lecturers,  a  chorus  of  seven  hundred  voices, 
kindergartens,  secondary  schools,  every  sort 
of  refined  athletics,  and  perpetually  running 
soda  fountains. 

There  was  neither  zymotic  disease,  poverty, 
drunkenness,  crime  or  police. 

There  was  culture,  kindness,  cheapness, 
equality,  in  short  what  mankind  has  been 
striving  for  under  the  name  of  civilization,  a 
foretaste  of  what  human  society  might  be, 
were  it  all  in  the  light,  with  no  suffering  and 
no  dark  corners. 

And  yet  when  he  left  the  camp  he  quotes 
himself  as  saying  to  himself :  '  *  Ouf !  What  a 
relief.  Now  for  something  primordial  to  set 
the  balance  straight  again.  This  order  is  too 
tame,  this  culture  too  second-rate,  this  good- 
ness too  uninteresting.  This  human  drama 
without  a  villain  or  a  pang;  this  community 
so  refined  that  ice  cream  soda  is  the  utmost 
offering  it  can  make  to  the  brute  animal  in 
man ;  this  city  simmering  in  the  tepid  lake- 
side sun;  this  atrocious  harmlessness  of  all 
things — I  cannot  abide  with  them." 

But  whether  he  could  or  not,  the  rest  of  us 
have  to,  and  the  country  moves  Chautauqua- 
ward  with  decorous  haste.  From  anti-can- 

129 


Rebellion 

teen  and  anti-racing  to  anti-fights  and  anti- 
tights,  the  aunties  seem  to  have  it,  the  aunties 
have  it,  and  the  bill  is  passed. 

Al  viewed  this  national  tendency  with 
mixed  feelings ;  with  joy  when  he  tasted  for- 
bidden fruit  and  sneaked  off  across  the  state 
line  with  Moxey  in  a  special  train  full  of  bar- 
tenders and  policemen  off  duty  and  gay  brok- 
ers and  butchers  to  see  more  than  the  law 
allowed ;  with  sorrow  when  he  considered  the 
future  of  his  country,  as  a  gray,  flat  and 
feminine  plain. 

The  preliminaries  had  been  fought  off; 
there  was  the  customary  nervous  pause  be- 
fore the  wind-up.  Young  men  with  official 
caps  forced  their  ways  between  the  packed 
crowds  with  "peanuts,  ham  sandwiches  and 
cold  bottled  beer."  The  announcer,  a  tall 
young  man  in  shirt  sleeves,  who  looked  as 
if  he  might  be  a  fairly  useful  citizen  himself 
in  case  of  a  difference,  made  the  customary 
appeal. 

' '  Gen-tul-men,  on  account  of  the  smoke  in 
the  at-mos-phere,  I  am  requested  to  request 
you  to  quit  smoking."  (Pause.)  "The  box- 
ers find  it  difficult  to  box  in  this  at-mos-phere, 
and  you  will  wit-ness  a  better  encounter  if 

130 


Moxey 

you  do."  (Applause,  but  no  snuffing  of 
torches.) 

"The  final  contest  of  this  evening's  pro- 
ceedings," called  the  announcer,  first  to  one 
side  of  the  ring,  then  to  the  other,  "will  be 
between  Johnny  Fiteon  and  Kid  O'Mara, 
both  of  Chicago,  fer  th'  bantamweight  cham- 
p'nship  o'  th'  world." 

Handclappings  and  whistlings.  But  the 
announcer,  being  gifted  with  the  dramatic  in- 
stinct, knew  how  to  work  up  his  climaxes, 
which,  so  far  as  he  personally  was  con- 
cerned, would  culminate  with  the  tap  of  the 
gong  for  the  first  round.  It  was  his  affair 
to  have  the  house  seething  with  excitement 
when  that  gong  tapped. 

"Gen-tul-men,"  continued  the  announcer; 
then  he  spied  two  plumes  waving  in  the  mid- 
dle distance  and  made  the  amend,  to  de- 
lighted sniggers:  'Ladees  and  gen-tul-men, 
I  take  pleasure  in  in-ter-ducing  Eunt  Keough 
of  Phil-ur-del-f y-a. "  A  diminutive  youth 
with  a  wise  face  stepped  in  the  ring  and 
bobbed  his  head  to  the  cheers,  and  muttered 
something  to  the  announcer.  "Eunt  Keough 
hereby  challenges  the  winner  of  this  bout,  for 
the  championship  of  th'  world  in  the  115- 

131 


Rebellion 

poung  class,  to  a  finish."  A  tumult  ensued. 
The  Eunt  backed  out  of  the  ring  to  hoots  of 
"fourflusher"  and  howls  of  approbation. 

"Ladees  and  gen-tul-men,  I  now  take 
pleasure  in  in-ter-ducing  to  you  Mr.  Ed  Fite- 
on,  father  and  handler  of  Johnny  Fiteon,  who 
wears  th'  bantamweight  crown  o'  th'  world." 

The  crowd  made  evident  its  vehement 
gratitude  for  Ed's  share  in  Johnny's  crea- 
tion. 

"Chee,"  whispered  Moxey  to  Al,  as  they 
sat  close  and  rapt,  with  shining  eyes,  on  the 
dollar  seats  high  up  and  far  away,  "they'd 
tear  up  the  chairs  for  Johnny's  mother  if 
they'd  perduce  her." 

But  now  something  was  happening  by  the 
east  entrance.  The  cheering  suddenly  ceased, 
A  low  anxious  buzzing  whisper  ran  over  the 
entire  assemblage.  Men  stood  up  to  look 
eastward  regardless  of  monitions  from  be- 
hind to  sit  down.  Something  was  cutting 
through  the  crowd  from  the  east  entrance  to 
the  ring.  It  was  Kid  O'Mara  in  his  cotton 
bathrobe  preceded  by  a  gigantic  mulatto  and 
followed  by  two  smaller  Caucasians. 

Moxey 's  bony  fingers  dug  suddenly  into 
Al's  biceps.  "Kid,  you  gotta  do  it,  Kid,  you 

132 


Moxey 

gotta, "  he  whispered.  "0,  fer  God's  sake, 
Kid." 

Al  was  surprised.  "Are  you  with 
O'Mara?"  he  asked. 

"Am  I  with  him?"  answered  Moxey  with 
a  sob  in  his  voice;  "am  I  with  him — he's  me 
cousin." 

"O'Mara  your  cousin?" 

"Lipkowsky's  his  right  name — same  as 
mine.  Look  at  his  beak  and  see. ' ' 

There  was  no  doubt  of  it.  "Kid 
O'Mara's"  proboscis  corroborated  Moxey 's 
claim. 

Johnny's  entrance  a  few  minutes  later  was 
still  more  effective  and  his  reception  warmer. 
Fight  fans  are  courtiers,  always  with  the 
king. 

When  the  two  boys  stripped,  Johnny  show- 
ed short  and  stocky,  the  Kid  lank  and  lithe. 
Johnny  depended  on  his  punch,  the  Kid  on 
his  reach. 

They  fought  ten  rounds  and  it  was  called 
a  draw,  probably  a  just  decision  inasmuch  as 
the  adherents  of  each  contestant  proclaimed 
that  the  referee  had  been  corrupted  against 
their  man. 

Besides,  a  draw  meant  another  fight  be- 

133 


Rebellion 

tween  them  with,  plenty  of  money  in  the 
house. 

This  evening  in  fistiana  was  perhaps  the 
most  powerful  single  experience  which  in- 
fluenced Al  at  this  period  of  his  life.  For  a 
long  time  he  sat  silent  beside  Moxey  on  the 
return  trip,  pondering  the  physical  beauty  of 
Johnny  and  the  Kid  and  ruefully  comparing 
their  bodies  with  his  own. 

He  sighed,  "And  now  I  s'pose  your  cous- 
in'11  go  out  and  kill  it  to-night  ?" 

"Not  him,"  Moxey  reassured;  "he  never 
touches  it  in  any  form  or  shape,  understand. ' ' 

"He's  training  all  the  time?"  continued 
Al,  bent  on  deciphering  the  secret  ways  of 
greatness. 

6 1  Yep.    So  you  might  say. ' ' 

"Oh,"  then  Al  relapsed  into  silence  to 
wrestle  with  the  angel  of  training  all  the 
time. 

Like  most  young  fellows,  Al  regarded  his 
body  as  the  source  of  all  the  happiness  that 
amounted  to  anything.  The  brain  was  mere- 
ly its  adjunct,  its  money  maker  and  guide. 
Its  operations  might  lead  to  life,  but  they 
were  not  life  like  the  body's 

It  flashed  upon  him  in  the  train  bound  home 

134 


Moxey 

from  the  fight  that  he  might  achieve  joy  in 
either  of  two  ways,  by  going  in  for  sports  or 
"sporting,"  by  perfecting  the  animal  in  him 
or  by  abusing  it,  by  getting  into  as  good 
shape  as  Kid  O'Mara  or  into  as  bad  shape 
as  the  pale  waster  crumpled  in  the  seat  across 
the  aisle. 

So  began  a  struggle  in  him,  not  yet  ended, 
between  the  Ormuzd  and  Ahriman  of  phys- 
ical condition.  His  high  achievement  thus 
far  has  been  sixth  place  in  a  river  Marathon 
swimming  race,  his  completest  failure  thirty- 
six  successive  drunken  hours  in  the  restricted 
district. 


135 


XI 

FUSION 

Al  wasn't  much  of  a  head  at  books. 
Georgia  persuaded  him  to  start  in  high 
school,  but  he  soon  came  out,  for  he  found 
that  it  interfered  with  the  free  expression  of 
his  personality.  There  were  too  many  girls 
about  one  and  he  became  extremely  appre- 
hensive lest  he  develop  into  a  regular  lah- 
de-dah. 

Georgia  was  more  afraid  of  his  developing 
into  a  regular  rough  and  tough,  so  they  had 
a  very  intense  time  of  it  in  the  flat  while  the 
question  was  under  discussion. 

Mother  Talbot  sided  with  neither  of  them. 
She  wanted  Al  to  continue  his  instructions, 
but  in  the  institutions  under  the  direction  of 
the  Church.  She  couldn't  reconcile  herself 
to  APs  getting  his  learning  in  a  place  where 
the  very  name  of  God  was  banned,  as  it  was 
in  the  public  schools. 

Indeed  in  her  opinion,  and  you  couldn't 

136 


Fusion 

change  it,  no,  not  if  you  argued  from  now  un- 
til the  clap  of  doom,  the  main  trouble  with 
everything  nowdays  was  impiety  and  weaken- 
ing of  faith,  brought  about  how?  Why,  by 
these  public  schools,  these  atheist  factories 
that  were  ashamed  of  the  Saviour. 

For  her  part,  she  couldn't  see  her  son  go- 
ing to  one  of  them  with  any  peace  of  mind, 
and  she  wanted  them  both  to  remember,  that 
he  would  go  against  her  consent  and  in  spite 
of  her  prayers.  What's  more,  if  he  was  un- 
dutiful  in  this  matter  he'd  probably  find  him- 
self sitting  between  a  Jew  and  a  nigger, 
which  she  must  say  would  serve  him  right. 

Did  Georgia  think,  she  inquired  on  another 
occasion,  that  the  priests  weren't  up  to  teach- 
ing Al,  or  what  ?  To  be  sure,  learning  was  a 
fine  thing  for  a  boy  starting  out  in  the  world 
and  she  approved  of  it  as  much  as  any  one, 
but  who  ever  heard  of  an  ordinary  priest 
who  hadn't  more  wisdom  in  his  little  finger 
than  a  public  school  teacher  had  in  her  whole 
silly  head! 

In  a  church  school  he  would  receive  in- 
structions not  only  in  temporal,  but  also  in 
divine  learning.  He  would  be  taught  not 
merely  history  and  mathematics  and  such 

137 


Rebellion 

like,  but  also  goodness  and  pure  living,  which 
were  far  more  important  for  any  young 
fellow. 

But  Georgia  could  not  be  convinced.  She 
said  she  had  been  to  a  convent  and  if  she  had 
it  to  do  over  again  she  would  go  to  public 
high  school — just  as  Al,  who  not  only  was  a 
considerate  and  loving  brother,  but  also  could 
see  clearly  how  sorry  he  would  be  in  after 
life  if  he  didn't,  was  about  to  decide  to  do. 

She  finally  had  her  way  and  Al  picked  up 
his  burden — and  found  it  not  so  difficult  to 
carry  after  all.  For  he  joined  the  Alpha 
Beta  Gammas  and  rose  rapidly  in  that  order, 
becoming  its  most  expert  and  weariless 
initiator,  a  very  terror  to  novitiates.  But 
precisely  at  the  moment  when  the  Alpha 
Bets  reached  the  zenith  of  their  glory,  the 
skies  fell  upon  them — the  edict  coming  from 
above  that  all  fraternities  must  go. 

Al  went  too.  The  place  was  indubitably  fit 
for  nothing  but  girls  now.  And  whatever 
Georgia  might  say,  this  time  he  was  going  to 
stick,  for  in  the  last  analysis  she  was  a  female 
and  her  words  subject  to  discount. 

He  stuck,  discounting  the  female;  and  she 
was  distressed  like  a  mother  robin  in  the 

138 


Fusion 

tree,  whose  youngling,  that  has  just  fluttered 
down,  persists  in  hopping  out  of  the  long 
grass  upon  the  shaven  lawn,  when,  as  all 
robinhood  knew,  there  were  cats  in  the 
kitchen  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

It  is  the  impulse  of  youth  to  travel  far  in 
search  of  marvels,  a  vestige,  so  it  is  said,  of 
the  nomadic  stage  of  human  development, 
when  the  race  itself  was  young.  It  was  as 
member  of  a  demonstration  crew  for  a 
vacuum  cleaning  machine  that  Al  enjoyed  his 
wander 'jakre.  He  went  among  strange  people 
and  heard  the  babbling  of  many  tongues 
without  passing  out  of  Chicago. 

Like  a  reporter,  or  a  mendicant  friar  of 
old,  he  knocked  on  all  doors.  The  slouch,  the 
slattern,  the  miser  and  the  saint  opened  to 
him;  the  pale  young  mother  with  a  child  at 
her  breast  and  another  at  her  skirts  and  both 
her  eyes  black  and  blue ;  or  the  gray  old  sew- 
ing woman  who  for  her  plainness  had  known 
neither  the  bliss  nor  the  horror  of  a  man. 
One  rolling-mill  husky  in  South  Chicago 
chased  him  down  stairs  with  a  stick  of  wood, 
and  another  heaved  his  big  arm  around  him 
and  made  him  come  in  and  wait  while  little 
Jerry  took  the  pail  to  the  corner. 

139 


Rebellion 

He  came  upon  a  household  where  one  life 
was  coming  as  another  was  going,  and  a  little 
girl  of  twelve  who  could  no  longer  contain 
the  excitement  of  the  day  beneath  her  small 
bosom  followed  him  into  the  entry  way  as 
he  hastily  backed  out,  and  whispered  between 
gasps  to  catch  her  breath  her  version  of 
family  history  in  the  making. 

He  learned  early  the  value  of  the  smooth 
tongue,  the  timely  bluff  and  the  signed  con- 
tract; and  grew  rapidly  from  boy  to  man  in 
the  forcing-bed  of  the  city. 

Meanwhile  Moxey,  not  yet  twenty,  was 
swimming  in  a  sea  of  sentiment.  There  was 
a  young  Italian  girl  who  worked  in  the  paper- 
box  factory. 

"Angelica,"  said  he,  "come  to  the  dance 
to-night." 

"Nit,"  she  responded. 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  they'd  give  me  the  laugh,  if  I " 

She  paused  tactfully." 

"Account  of ,"  he  drew  a  semi-circle 

about  his  nose  and  laughed  unhappily. 

"We-ell."    It  was  explicit  enough. 

"Can't  see  a  guinea  has  anything  on  a 


140 


Fusion 

Yiddisher."    Tit  for  tat  in  love's  badinage. 

"I'm  no  guinea,  I'm  not,"  she  exclaimed 
passionately.  "I'm  Anmrrican. " 

"So'm  I,"  he  answered  briskly.  "I'm 
Anmrrican — and  I  don't  wear  no  hoops  in 
my  ears."  Perhaps  that  would  hold  her  for 
a  while.  It  did.  She  retreated  in  tears, 
thinking  of  her  sire's  shame. 

But  her  bosom  was  deep  and  her  lips  were 
as  red  as  an  anarchist  flag,  and  her  little 
nose  tilted  the  other  way.  So  why  stay  mad 
with  her?  Her  eyebrows  nearly  met  in  the 
center,  though  she  was  only  sixteen. 

And  as  for  dancing — well,  he'd  looked  'em 
all  over  in  vaudeville  and  he  couldn't  see 
where  they  had  anything  on  her.  More  steps 
perhaps,  but  no  more  looks — or  class. 

And  Angelica  went  to  dances  with  Irishers, 
loafers  who  'd  never  take  care  of  her,  and  she 
wouldn't  go  with  him.  Well,  he'd  see  if  she 
wouldn't.  He'd  own  that  little  nose  of  hers 
some  day  or  know  why.  He'd  make  money, 
he'd  be  rich,  he'd  woo  her  with  rings  and  pins 
and  tickets  of  admission.  He  would  be  ir- 
resistible in  his  lavishness. 

Johnny  Fiteon,  bantamweight  champion  of 


141 


Rebellion 

the  world,  contributed  to  the  discomfortnre 
of  those  members  of  his  race  who  liked  to 
dance  with  Angelica,  for  on  his  second  time 
out  with  Moxey 's  cousin  he  lost  the  decision 
by  a  shade. 

Moxey  knew  he  would  beforehand.  Johnny 
redeemed  himself  in  their  next  encounter, 
however,  and  put  the  cousin  away,  so  there 
could  be  no  question  about  it. 

And  again  Moxey,  knowing  beforehand 
that  he  would,  prospered  and  showered  An- 
gelica with  brooches.  Also  he  purchased  an 
equity  in  a  two-story  frame  cottage  with 
Greeks  in  the  basement  and  Hunkies  above. 
One  shouldn't,  he  reflected,  depend  too  much 
on  sports  to  keep  up  the  supply  of  brooches. 

" Aggie,"  said  he,  as  they  returned  from  a 
dance  together,  "take  a  peep  at  this."  He 
extracted  a  diamond  solitaire  pin  from  his 
tie  and  stopping  under  an  arc  light  gave  it  to 
her  to  examine. 

"I  seen  it,"  she  snapped.  "You  been 
flashing  it  at  me  all  evening.  Think  I'm 
blind?" 

"Make  up  into  a  nice  ring,  wouldn't  it?" 

Angelica  was  wise.     She  knew  what  men 


142 


Fusion 

were  after.  She  didn't  work  in  a  paper-box 
factory  for  nothing.  She  would  let  them  go 
just  so  far,  to  be  sure,  if  they  were  good 
fellows,  but  she  could  draw  the  line.  Indeed 
she  had  already  drawn  it  once  or  twice  witk 
five  thick  little  fingers  on  astonished  cheeks. 
She  measured  her  distance  from  the  ardent 
Hebrew  unconscious  of  his  danger,  but  still 
she  paused  for  greater  certainty.  Did  the 
diamond  mean  another  proposition— or  was 
it  maybe  a  proposal  this  time? 

"I  got  my  uncle  in  jail  in  Napoli,"  she 
said  very  quietly. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  answered  simply.  "But 
what  of  it?  They  had  my  brother  Steve  in 
Pontiac  once." 

"My  uncle  he  killed  the  man  that  spoilt 
his  daughter." 

"That  ain't  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of, 
Aggie,"  he  spoke  kindly,  seeking  to  console 
her,  and  took  her  small  and  stubby  hand 
gently  in  his  long  sinewy  ones;  "he  done 
right." 

She  never  let  him  know,  for  her  dignity, 
how  low  she  once  had  feared  he  held  her, 
and  she  kissed  him  goodnight  many  times. 


143 


Rebellion 

"They  say  you  people  are  good  to  their 
women,  Moxey,"  she  whispered.  "Ours 
ain  't,  always. ' '  She  paused.  * '  Gee,  my  pa  '11 
have  a  fit." 

Moxey  laughed.  "Mine  too,  I  guess," 
said  he,  "but  we  won't  have  to  ask  them  for 
nothing,  understand. ' ' 


144 


xn 
MOXEY 'S  SISTER 

"You'll  stand  up  with  me,  won't  you?" 
Moxey  asked,  a  bit  anxiously. 

"Sure,  of  course,"  said  Al. 

"It's  at  night,  and" — here  was  to  be  at 
least  one  wedding  where  the  groom  was  no 
lay  figure —  "dress  suits  de  rigger,  under- 
stand." 

"Sure,  of  course,"Al  assented  impatiently. 
Did  Moxey  think  he  didn't  know  anything? 

"We  ain't  going  to  tell  the  old  folks  for 
a  couple  of  weeks  to  save  hard  feelings  on 
both  sides,  that's  our  motto.  And  the  kids 
is  to  be  Catholics,  she  stood  pat  on  that." 

' '  Sure,  of  course,  what  did  you  expect  'em 
to  be,  kikes?"  Perhaps  Al  spoke  a  trifle 
too  explicitly,  for  Moxey  flushed  as  he  fre- 
quently did.  It  was  his  last  remaining  signal 
to  the  world  that  his  hide  wasn't  as  tough  as 
he  pretended. 

"I  ain't  marr'in'  her  just  because  she's  a 

145 


Rebellion 

peach,"  Moxey  rhapsodized,  "but  she  is. 
Wait  till  you  see  her  and  I'll  leave  it  to  you. 
But  she's  got  principle,  too.  Her  uncle  killed 
a  fellow  for  wronging  his  daughter  and  Aggie 
says  he  done  right,  if  he  is  still  doing  time  in 
the  old  country.  Oh,  there's  plenty  of  prin- 
ciple in  dagoes,  you  can  say  what  you  like. 
When  you  go  foolin*  around  their  women  you 
gotta  take  a  chance." 

It  was  as  if  Moxey  had  pressed  a  bell  in 
his  friend's  mind  and  opened  a  chamber 
there,  where  vague  shapes  appeared  and  sus- 
picion had  been  gathering.  For  Al  had  ob- 
served Georgia's  mysteries  and  evasions,  her 
care  before  her  mirror,  her  new  hats  and 
pretty  ribbons,  her  day-long  Sunday  ab- 
sences. Twice  he  had  met  her  on  the  street, 
walking  and  chatting  most  gayly  with  some 
strange  man.  Besides  his  mother  had 
plainly  hinted  that  all  might  not  be  right. 

"What  do  you  think  a  fellow  ought  to  do 
if  a  man's  after  his  sister?"  Al  asked  slowly. 
"This  unwritten  law  thing  don't  seem  to 
work  any  more  except  down  South." 

"You  can't  lay  down  no  rule,"  said  Moxey. 
"Depends  on  if  you  like  your  sister." 

"If  you  do?" 

146 


Moxey's  Sister 

"Then  go  the  limit  and  take  a  chance  with 
your  jury."  He  paused  and  great  shame 
came  to  his  cheeks  again.  "I  had  a  sister, 
oncet  .  .  •  and  she,  well  y'  understand. 
.  .  .  I  sometimes  thought  I  oughta  of 
killed  him  .  .  .  but  I  never  did  .  .  . 
I  kept  askin'  myself  *  what's  the  good  of  kill- 
ing him  now?  Becky's  done  for  anyhow,  and 
it'd  just  do  for  me,  too.'  .  .  .  The  time 
to  look  out  for  a  girl  is  beforehand,  not 
afterwards." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  that,  especially 
in  theory.  But  Al  contemplated  somewhat 
dubiously  the  task  of  safeguarding  Georgia. 
She  was  so  blamed  independent.  She  might 
say  he  was  impertinent,  or  she  might  just 
laugh  at  him.  She  was  fairly  certain,  at  all 
events,  not  to  acquiesce  readily  in  any  watch 
and  ward  policy  which  he  might  seek  to  in- 
stitute for  her  benefit.  Still —  in  a  well 
conducted  family  the  men  were  supposed  to 
look  out  for  the  women  and  keep  the  breath 
of  dishonor  from  them.  He  was  the  man  of 
the  family  now,  if  he  was  only  eighteen,  and 
so  it  was  up  to  him  to  find  out  if  Georgia  was 
in  danger,  and  if  she  was,  to  get  her  out  of  it 
beforehand. 

147 


Rebellion 

"I  seen  your  sister  once,"  remarked 
Moxey,  guessing  his  thoughts. 

Al  was  silent. 

"Looked  like  she  could  take  care  of  her- 
self." 

"Oh,  she's  got  good  sense,"  said  Al,  "but 
you  know  the  riddle,  ' Why's  a  woman  like  a 
ship?  Because  it  takes  a  man  to  manage 
her.'  " 

"Yes,"  assented  Moxey,  "and  they  have 
more  respect,  understand,  for  the  fellow  who 
can  say  no  to  'em  when  it's  right." 

So  after  supper  that  evening,  instead  of  go- 
ing over  to  the  pool  parlor,  Al  stayed  at  home 
waiting  for  his  mother  to  go  to  bed,  when  he 
could  have  a  talk  with  Georgia  and  pump  her 
and  find  out  about  this  strange  man  she  knew, 
and  if  necessary  say  no. 

His  mother  drew  up  to  the  lamp  and 
darned  his  socks  and  talked  and  talked  on 
endlessly  it  seemed  to  him.  He  felt  a  little 
abused  when  nine  o'clock  came,  which  was 
her  bed  time,  and  still  she  made  no  move  to 

go. 

She  did  get  a  little  tiresome  at  times.  He 
would  acknowledge  that  frankly  to  himself, 
though  he  would  not  let  her  see  it  for 

148 


Moxey's  Sister 

worlds — except  by  staying  away  from  her 
most  of  the  time,  and  not  paying  atten- 
tion to  her  when  he  was  with  her. 

If  his  most  affectionate  greeting  of  the  day 
came  as  a  rule  when  he  said  "Good  night, 
mother  dear,"  he  didn't  realize  it;  and  it 
would  have  amazed  him  to  know  that  some- 
times she  sniffled  for  as  much  as  half  an 
hour  after  she  went  to  bed,  because  he  had 
shown  so  plainly  that  he  was  glad  to  be  rid 
of  her.  She  supposed  in  her  sadness  that  he 
was  an  unnatural,  almost  unparalleled  ex- 
ample of  unfilial  ingratitude;  not  suspecting 
he  was  only  a  rear  rank  file  in  the  Ever  Vic- 
torious Army  of  Youth. 

Al  wound  his  watch.  "Gee,  quarter  of 
ten,"  he  remarked,  through  a  yawn.  He 
stretched  himself  elaborately.  Mother  was 
certainly  delaying  the  game.  Until  she  went 
he  couldn't  have  his  round-up  with  Georgia, 
who  was  in  one  of  her  after-supper  reading 
spells  and  had  hardly  said  a  word  all  evening. 

She  now  had  a  fad  for  those  little  books 
bound  in  imitation  green  leather  that  consti- 
tuted the  World's  Epitome  of  Culture  series 
and  cost  thirty-five  cents  apiece,  or  two  maga- 


149 


Rebellion 

zines  and  an  extra  Sunday  paper,  as  she  put 
it. 

She  had  been  through  twenty  of  them  al- 
ready and  was  now  on  her  twenty-first.  He 
didn't  deny  that  it  was  creditable  to  go  in 
for  culture.  If  that  was  the  sort  of  thing  she 
liked,  why,  as  the  fellow  says,  he  supposed 
she  liked  that  sort  of  thing.  It's  a  free  coun- 
try. But  as  for  him,  when  he  was  tired  with 
the  day's  work,  he  thought  he  was  entitled 
to  a  little  recreation — a  game  of  pool,  a 
couple  of  glasses  of  beer,  maybe  a  swim  in  a 
"nat" — he  wasn't  bad  at  the  middle  dis- 
tances— and  he  couldn't  see  drawing  up  a 
chair  under  a  lamp  and  going  to  work  again, 
for  that  was  what  it  amounted  to,  on  a  little 
green  Epitome  that  you  had  to  study  over  to 
get  the  meaning,  or  maybe  look  in  the  diction- 
ary, as  she  was  doing  now.  She  had  told  him 
that  they  were  more  interesting  than  the 
other  kind  of  books  and  had  even  got  him  to 
start  on  a  couple  she  said  he  was  sure  to  like, 
because  they  were  so  exciting — Marco  Polo 's 
Travels  and  Froissart's  Chronicles — but  they 
didn't  excite  him  any,  and  he  made  only 
about  thirty  pages  in  each  of  them. 

Indeed,  it  was  his  private  opinion  that 

150 


Moxey's  Sister 

Georgia  was  more  or  less  bunking  herself 
with  this  upward  and  onward  stuff.  She  fell 
for  it  because  it  helped  her  feel  superior. 
And  then  she  worked  herself  up  to  believing 
she  really  liked  it  because  people  were  sur- 
prised she  knew  so  much  and  said  she  had  a 
naturally  fine  mind.  A  vicious  circle. 

In  all  of  which  cogitations  he  was  perhaps 
not  entirely  astray;  though  her  chief  incite- 
ment was  more  concrete  than  he  supposed. 
She  wanted  to  impress  Stevens  in  particular, 
rather  than  people  in  general — she  was  de- 
termined to  keep  even  with  him  so  that  he 
could  never  talk  down  to  her  as  to  a  mere 
"womanly  woman"  who  held  him  by  sex  and 
nothing  more. 

When  at  last  Mrs.  Talbot  arose,  Al  hasten- 
ed to  her,  kissed  her  affectionately,  slipped 
his  arm  around  her,  impelled  her  towards  the 
door,  opened  it  rapidly,  kissed  her  again, 
closed  it  firmly  behind  her,  lit  a  cigarette, 
and  began:  " Georgia,  I  want  to  have  a 
heart  to  heart  with  you." 

"  In  a  second. ' '  She  read  the  last  half  page 
of  her  chapter  so  rapidly  that  she  was  com- 
pelled to  read  it  over  again  for  conscience* 


151 


Rebellion 

sake,  then  inserted  her  book-mark  and  turned 
to  him:  "Fire  away." 

"Who's  the  mysterious  stranger!" 

She  had  known  it  was  coming  for  the  last 
half  hour.  From  the  corner  of  her  eye,  she 
had  spied  the  importance  of  the  occasion  ac- 
tually oozing  out  of  young  Al.  At  first  she 
thought  of  side-stepping  the  interview,  but 
eventually  decided  not  to,  partly  to  please  the 
lad  and  more  still  to  hear  how  her  case  would 
stand  when  discussed  aloud.  She  had  been 
in  a  most  chaotic  state  of  mind  ever  since  the 
agreement  with  Stevens  to  pretend;  that 
which  wasn't  clear  then  was  hazier  now;  she 
was  of  ten  minds  a  day  whether  to  give  in 
to  her  lover  or  to  give  in  to  the  Church. 
Now  she  would  listen  to  Georgia  and  Al  talk 
about  the  case  as  if  they  were  two  other 
people,  in  the  hope  of  finding  guidance  in  her 
eavesdropping. 

"He  is  a  man  in  the  office  whom  I  like," 
she  answered. 

"How  much?" 

"A  lot." 

"And  he  does,  too?" 

"Yes,  a  lot." 


152 


Moxey's  Sister 

"Hmm — you  know  I  hate  to  preach,  but — " 
Hesitation. 

"You  think  you  will,  all  the  same.  Go  on, 
I'm  listening. " 

"You  know  I'm  liberal.  If  you  were  just 
fooling  with  this  fellow,  I'd  never  peep,  hon- 
est, I  wouldn't." 

She  smiled,  "I'll  promise  to  only  fool  with 
my  next  beau. ' ' 

"Now,  this  is  no  laughing  matter,"  he  re- 
buked her  levity.  "If  you're  really — stuck 
on  each  other — it  may  bust  you  all  to  pieces 
before  you're  done  with  it — unless  you  quit 
in  time." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'quit'?" 

* l  Give  up  seeing  him  altogether.  It  would 
be  safer." 

"Yes,  so  it  would.  But  what's  that  got 
to  do  with  it!" 

"A  woman  can't  afford  to  take  chances," 
he  retorted  impressively. 

"It  seems  to  me  the  people  who  get  the 
most  fun  out  of  life  are  the  ones  who  do 
take  chances.  Your  little  tin  hero,  Eoose- 
velt,  for  instance — you  like  him  because  he'd 
rather  hunt  a  lion  or  a  trust  than  a  sure  thing. 
Jim  Horan  didn't  eat  smoke  for  the  money 

153 


Rebellion 

in  it,  but  because  he  thought  a  wall  might 
fall  on  him  some  day — or  might  not.  That's 
what  he  wanted  to  find  out.  Well,  perhaps  I 
want  to  find  out  if  a  wall  will  fall  on  me  some 
day — or  not. ' ' 

Al  was  astounded.  There  was  something 
more  than  bold,  something  hardly  decent  in 
the  comparison  of  her  own  dubious  flirtation 
to  a  great  fireman 's  martyrdom  or  a  soldier- 
statesman-sportsman's  courage  and  career. 

"But,  Georgia, "  he  expostulated,  "you 
speak  like  a  man  in  a  manhole.  Horan  and 
Eoosevelt  did  their  duty  taking  chances. " 

"Bubbish,"  she  said.  "They  acted  ac- 
cording to  their  natures  and  I  will  act  ac- 
cording to  mine — some  day." 

He  looked  unutterably  distressed,  for  Ee 
loved  her,  and  foresaw  ruin  enfolding  her. 
He  knew  that  women  aren't  allowed  to  act 
according  to  their  natures,  if  their  natures 
are  as  natural  as  all  that. 

"I  haven't  seen  Jim  for  over  a  year,"  she 
went  on,  "nor  heard  of  him  for  ten  months. 
He  may  be  dead.  He  is  the  same  as  dead  to 
me.  My  heart  is  the  heart  of  a  widow — grate- 
ful for  her  weeds.  The  Church  may  say 
otherwise — and  I  might  obey  unwillingly — 

154 


Moxey's  Sister 

but  my  own  being  tells  me  that  there  is  noth- 
ing wrong  in  my  love  for  Mason  Stevens — 
any  more  than  it 's  sin  to  breathe  air  or  drink 
water.  That's  how  we're  made.  When  I 
lived  with  Jim,  I  played  no  tricks.  But  that's 
over  now,  it's  over  for  good.  What's  the 
difference  whether  he's  under  the  sod  or 
above  it,  so  far  as  I'm  concerned?"  Her 
eyes  were  alight  and  she  walked  back  and 
forth,  gesticulating  like  a  Beveridge,  per- 
suading herself  that  what  she  wished  was 
just  because  she  wished  it.  "I've  got  a  few 
good  years  of  youth  left.  I'll  not  throw 
them  away  for  a  religious  quibble." 

"You  mean  divorce  and  marry  again — 
openly?" 

"What  does  the  ceremony  matter?  I'm 
not  sure  we'd  take  the  trouble  of  going 
through  it,"  she  shrugged  her  shoulders,  "the 
Church  says  that  it  means  nothing  anyway; 
that  it  makes  the  sin  no  less." 

"But,  Georgia,"  he  was  beginning  now  to 
fear  for  her  common  sense,  "for  God's  sake, 
if  you  do  such  a  thing,  first  go  through  the 
civil  form  anyway." 

She  laughed  triumphantly.  She  had 
caught  him.  "There  spoke  your  heart.  Of 

155 


Rebellion 

course,  we'll  have  a  legal  marriage.  You 
see  the  Church  hasn't  convinced  you,  either, 
that  divorce  and  remarriage  is  the  same  as 
adultery." 

She  had  crystallized  her  vague  desires  into 
positive  determination  by  the  daring  sound 
of  her  own  words. 


156 


xm 
EEENTER  JIM 

Al  reflected  moodily  that  arguing  with  a 
woman  never  gets  you  anything.  If  he  had 
been  trying  to  interest  Georgia  in  a  vacuum 
cleaner,  he  would  have  known  better  than 
to  start  in  by  arousing  her  to  a  fervor  for 
brooms.  Now  he  would  have  to  wait  a  few 
days  until  she  had  cooled  out,  and  then  try 
her  on  a  different  tack,  appealing  to  her  affec- 
tion and  begging  her  not  to  bring  disgrace 
upon  the  whole  family. 

She  was  half-sitting,  half-kneeling  on  the 
window  seat,  her  elbows  on  the  sill,  her 
cheeks  in  her  hands,  looking  out  into  the  dim 
urban  night.  Directly  to  the  south,  over  the 
loop,  where  Chicago  was  wide  awake  and 
playing,  the  diffused  electric  radiance  was 
brightest  and  highest — a  man-made  borealis. 

She  took  pride  in  her  big  city.  It  was  un- 
afraid. It  followed  no  rules  but  its  own,  and 

157 


Rebellion 

didn't  always  follow  them.  It  owned  the  fu- 
ture in  fee  and  pitied  the  past.  It  said,  not 
"Ought  If"  but  "I  will."  It  was  modern, 
just  as  she  was  modern.  She  was  more  char- 
acteristically the  offspring  of  her  city  than  of 
her  mother.  For  she  was  new,  like  Chicago ; 
and  her  mother  was  old,  like  the  Church. 

So  she  pondered  in  the  pleasant  after-glow 
of  decision,  buttressing  her  resolve. 

The  bell  rang  from  the  vestibule  below  and 
she  went  to  the  speaking  tube  to  find  out  what 
was  wanted.  "Yes?"  she  inquired,  then 
without  saying  anything  more  she  walked 
slowly  to  her  room. 

"Who  was  it!"  asked  Al,  but  she  closed  the 
door  behind  her  without  answering.  Funny 
things,  women.  He  went  to  the  tube  himself. 

"What  you  want?" 

"It's  Jim." 

"Jim! — well,  for  the  love  of  goodness  god- 
ness  Agnes — d'you  want  to  come  up!" 

"Yes,  if  it's  all  right." 

Al  pressed  the  door-opener,  but  before 
climbing  the  stairs  Jim  shouted  another 
question  through  the  tube:  "Wasn't  that 
Georgia  who  spoke  first?" 

"Yes." 

158 


Reenter  Jim 

"Well,  why  did  she — how  is  she,  anyway?" 

"Fine.    Come  along." 

There  was  a  great  change  in  Jim.  He  must 
have  taken  off  forty  or  fifty  pounds.  His 
eyes  were  clear,  his  skin  healthily  brown,  and 
he  had  hardened  up  all  over.  He  looked  a 
good  ten  years  younger  than  the  last  time 
Al  saw  him,  except  for  one  thing,  that  his 
hair  had  thinned  out  a  great  deal.  He  was 
almost  bald  on  top. 

They  shook  hands  and  Jim  gave  him  a  solid 
grip.  "Cheese,"  said  the  younger  fellow 
heartily,  "you  look  good — primed  for  a  bat- 
tle, almost."  He  put  his  fingers  on  the  oth- 
er's biceps. 

Jim  drew  up  his  clenched  fist,  showing  a 
very  respectable  bunch  of  muscle.  ' '  More 
than  there  ever  used  to  be,  eh?"  he  asked, 
smiling  broadly. 

Al  whistled,  stepped  back  for  a  better  look 
at  the  miracle,  and  whistled.  "And  yet  they 
say  they  never  come  back.  Hm-m-m — how'd 
you  do  it?" 

"Working.  Kousty  on  a  dredge  in  Okla- 
homa. ' ' 

"Eousty?" 

"Toted  coal  to  the  firemen,  later  got  to 

159 


Rebellion 

firing  myself — on  the  night  shift.  We  kept 
her  going  steady.  Funny  thing,  irrigating 
way  out  there,  t'hell  an'  gone,  in  the  middle 
of  the  frogs  barking  and  the  cattle  bawling 
feeding  your  old  thirty-horse  and  watching 
the  old  scoop  lifting  out  her  yard  of  sludge 
every  six  minutes.  You  got  so  it  seemed 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  but  it 
ain't,  is  it?" 

' ' What 'd  they  pay?" 

"Fifty  and  board.  But  the  money's  being 
in  the  business.  Me  and  our  day  trainman 
was  talking  of  getting  shares  in  a  dredge. 
There's  work  there  for  a  thousand  years. 
"Where's  Georgia?" 

Al  nodded  his  head  toward  her  door. 

"So's  not  to  see  me?" 

Al  nodded. 

' 1 1  came  clear  from  there  in  the  busy  season 
for  the  sight  of  her  and  I  didn't  come  alone. 
I've  three  hundred  here,"  said  Jim,  taking  a 
roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket.  "And  to  be 
turned  down  this  way,  with  my  heart  full  of 

love "  He  was  greatly  moved  and  he 

showed  it,  for  his  lip  trembled  and  his  voice 
shook. 

Al  was  sorry  for  him.    "Aw,  she'll  come 

160 


Reenter  Jim 

around.  She's  got  a  stubborn  streak,  you 
know  that,  but  she  does  right  in  the  end. 
Give  her  time.  I'll  talk  to  her." 

Jim  felt  sure  that  she  must  have  heard 
their  conversation,  especially  the  last  part  of 
it,  for  he  had  talked  quite  distinctly  and  he 
remembered  from  the  old  days  how  readily 
all  the  sounds  in  the  flat  penetrated  into  that 
room.  He  got  on  his  hands  and  knees  and 
looked  at  the  crack  beneath  her  door  to  see 
if  her  room  was  lighted. 

" She's  sitting  in  the  dark,"  he  whispered, 
"Would  it  be  all  right  to  knock?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Al  uncertainly. 

Jim  knocked  softly,  then  a  little  more  loud- 
ly, but  there  was  no  answer.  He  put  his  ear 
to  the  door  to  listen,  then  tip-toed  away. 

" She's  crying,"  he  whispered  to  Al,  " cry- 
ing to  beat  the  band.  Those  heavy  deep  kind 
of  sobs.  I  could  barely  hear  her.  Must  have 
her  face  in  the  pillow.  Now  what  do  you 
know  about  that?" 

"That's  a  good  sign,"  said  Al,  "means 
she's  coming  around.  When  she  just  turns 
white  and  don't  speak " 

Jim  privately  opined  that  he  understood 
Georgia's  moods  vastly  better  than  Al  ever 

161 


Rebellion 

would,  and  was  in  no  need  of  instruction  on 
this  subject. 

"You  mean  when  she  has  one  of  her 
silences, ' '  he  said,  giving  the  thing  its  proper 
name. 

"Yes,  that's  when  yon  can't  handle  her. 
But  now,  she's  begun  to  melt  already.  So 
to-morrow  evening  come  for  supper,  and  I 
bet  my  shirt  you  are  all  made  up  in  thirty 
minutes." 

Jim  wrung  his  hand.  "You're  a  thorough- 
bred, Al — and  take  this  from  me  now,  I've 
learned  sense.  If  I  get  her  back,  I'll  keep 
her.  No  more  booze,  never  one  drop." 

He  counted  out  four  five-dollar  bills  upon 
the  center  table.  "That's  what  I  borrowed, 
when  I  quit,"  he  explained.  As  he  reached 
the  door  he  turned  to  confirm  his  happy  ap- 
pointment. ' ' Six  thirty  to-morrow  evening!' ' 


162 


XIV 

THE  PALACE  OF  THE  UNBOEN 

The  following  morning  brother  and  sister 
rode  down-town  together  in  the  cars.  " Don't 
you  think  you  might  have  consulted  me  be- 
fore asking  Jim  to  supper  V  she  inquired. 

" Don't  be  foolish,"  he  replied  cheerfully, 
"you  were  locked  in  your  room." 

She  worked  all  day  in  that  state  of  sup- 
pressed excitement  which  presages  great 
events,  from  the  first  ride  on  the  lodge  goat 
to  the  codicil  part  of  uncle's  will.  Every- 
thing she  saw  or  touched  was  more  vivid  than 
usual  to  her  senses.  Her  typewriter  keys 
seemed  picked  out  in  the  air  against  a  deep 
perspective,  their  lettering  very  heavy,  their 
clicking  singularly  loud.  One  of  the  little 
flags  caught  in  a  ventilation  grill,  and  in- 
stead of  fluttering  out  freely,  flapped  and 
bellied,  making  a  small  snapping  noise.  A 
flag  wasn't  meant  to  do  that,  so  she  crossed 
the  big  room,  pulled  up  a  chair  and  released 

163 


Rebellion 

it,  somewhat  to  the  surprise  of  the  youth 
sitting  directly  beneath  it. 

The  old  man,  usually  rapid  enough  with 
his  letters,  seemed  hopelessly  slow  and  awk- 
ward this  morning,  and  she  had  to  bite  her 
tongue  to  keep  from  helping  him  out  with  the 
proper  word  when  he  got  stuck.  He  was 
leaning  back  in  his  swivel  chair,  wasting  in- 
terminable time  with  pauses  and  laryngeal 
interjections,  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together, 
his  eyes  half  closed,  droning  out  his  sen- 
tences. He  wore  a  little  butterfly  tie,  to-day, 
blue  spots  on  brown,  just  below  his  active 
Adam's  apple  and  thin,  corded  neck.  Under 
the  point  of  his  chin  was  a  little  patch  which 
his  razor  had  skipped,  hopelessly  white.  She 
wondered  what  could  be  in  it  for  him  any 
more,  and  why  he  didn't  retire. 

She  rattled  off  her  letters,  then  added  a 
note  for  Stevens,  "Dinner  to-night?"  and  left 
it  in  the  S  compartment  of  the  Letters  Re- 
ceived box. 

When  he  came  in  later  for  his  afternoon 
mail  he  caught  her  eye  and  nodded,  and  on 
the  way  out  of  the  old  man's  office  stopped 
at  her  desk  for  a  few  hasty  words:  "What 
time,  and  where?" 

164 


The  Palace  of  the  Unborn 

"Wherever  you  like — at  six  thirty. " 

"Max's?"  he  suggested,  "we'll  have 
snails." 

'  l  Oh,  what  a  perfectly  dear  place — in  every 
sense  of  the  word." 

"My  treat,"  he  said. 

"No." 

"You  never  dined  with  me  before;  you 
might  let  me  celebrate. 

"We'll  celebrate  anyway,  Dutch.  Make  it 
Max's." 

He  didn't  prolong  the  argument.  They  had 
long  before  made  a  compact  that  the  expenses 
of  their  expeditions  should  be  shared. 

"I  suppose,"  he  inquired,  "your  six  thirty 
really  means  seven.  I've  an  appointment, 
might  keep  me  till  then,  unless " 

"I'll  meet  you  on  the  stroke  of  half-past," 
she  said,  and  was  as  good  as  her  word. 

They  had  snails  a  la  Max,  whereof  the 
frame  is  finer  than  the  picture,  as  well  as 
Maxian  frogs'  legs,  boned  and  wrapped  in 
lettuce  leaves,  and,  not  without  misgivings, 
a  bottle  of  claret. 

Stevens,  unaware  that  it  was  their  last 
time  of  pretending,  abided  by  the  rules.  They 
talked  shop  and  shows  and  vacations.  Georgia 

165 


Rebellion 

slipped  in  a  few  appropriate  words  concern- 
ing her  cultural  progress.  They  were  both 
somewhat  severe  upon  the  orchestra,  because 
there  was  too  much  noise  to  the  music,  so 
Mason  beckoned  the  head  waiter  and  "re- 
quested" the  barcarole  from  Tales  of  Hoff- 
man, and  they  floated  off  in  it  toward  the 
edge  of  what  they  knew. 

It  is  said  that  most  people  have  at  least 
two  personalities.  In  this  respect  Georgia 
was  like  them.  One  side  of  her  was  the 
woman  of  1850,  and  the  times  previous; 
whether  mother,  wife,  daughter,  maiden  or 
mistress,  primarily  something  in  relation  to 
man,  her  individuality  submerged  in  this  re- 
lationship, as  a  soldier's  individuality  is  sub- 
merged in  his  uniform. 

The  other  aspect  of  Georgia's  nature  was 
that  of  the  "new  woman,"  the  women  hoped 
for  in  1950.  Bold,  determined,  taught  to 
think,  relentless  in  defense  of  her  own  per- 
sonality, insistent  that  men  shall  have  less 
and  she  shall  have  more  sexual  freedom,  she 
is  first  of  all  herself  and  only  next  to  that, 
something  to  a  man. 

When  the  woman  of  1850  managed  to  get 
in  a  word  about  Jim  and  his  fruitless  wait  at 

166 


The  Palace  of  the  Unborn 

home,  the  woman  of  1950  answered,  ''Shall 
you  now  be  absurd  enough  to  leave  the  man 
you  love  for  one  you  hate  ? '  ' 

"Shall  we  take  in  a  show?"  he  suggested 
when  they  had  finished  their  coffee. 

"I  believe  I'd  rather  walk  home." 

"Why,  it's  five  miles."  He  was  somewhat 
disconcerted  by  her  energy,  for  he  was  dis- 
tinctly let  down,  in  reaction  from  his  day's 
work,  and  his  afternoon's  excitement  of  look- 
ing forward  to  an  unusual  meeting  with  her, 
which  had  turned  out  after  all  to  be  more 
than  commonly  placid. 

"Five  miles — and  a  heavenly  night.  The 
first  of  spring.  Come,  brace  up." 

' '  You  must  be  feeling  pretty  strong. ' ' 

"No,"  she  said,  "  I  am  getting  a  bit  head- 
achy, I  want  some  air,  to  get  out  of  four  walls 
and  merge  into  the  darkness — if  you  know 
what  I  mean. ' ' 

"You're  not  going  to  be  sick?"  he  asked 
concernedly. 

"0,  no — it's  just  a  touch  of  spring  fever,  I 
imagine. ' ' 

There  is  a  cement  path  with  a  sloping  con- 
crete breakwater  which  winds  between  Lake 
Michigan  on  one  side  and  Lincoln  Park  on 

167 


Rebellion 

the  other  for  a  distance  of  several  miles. 
Here  come  the  people  in  endless  procession 
from  morning  until  midnight,  two  by  two, 
male  and  female,  walking  slow  and  talking 
low,  permeated  by  the  souls  of  children  beg- 
ging life. 

It  is  a  chamber  of  Maeterlinck's  azure  pal- 
ace of  the  unborn. 

Presently,  by  good  luck,  Georgia  and  her 
lover  came  upon  a  bench  just  as  another 
couple  was  quitting  it — the  supply  of  benches 
being  inadequate  to  the  demands  of  pleasant 
evenings  in  spring.  The  departing  two 
passed,  one  around  each  end  of  the  seat,  and 
walked  rapidly,  several  feet  apart,  across  the 
strip  of  lawn  and  bridal  path  beyond.  They 
were  delayed  at  the  curb  by  the  stream  of 
automobiles  and  stood  out  in  clear  relief 
against  the  passing  headlights. 

It  was  evident  they  had  been  quarreling, 
for  the  man  looked  sullen  and  the  woman, 
half  turned  away,  shrugged  her  shoulders  to 
what  he  was  saying. 

Georgia  had  been  watching  them.  "Too 
bad,"  said  she,  "they're  having  a  row." 

"Perhaps  they're  not  meant  for  each 
other." 

168 


The  Palace  of  the  Unborn 

"Everyone  quarrels  sometimes,"  she  an- 
swered, " meant  or  not." 

"Do  you  think  we  would,  if " 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  she  replied  sharply. 
""We're  human  beings,  not  angels." 

There  was  doubtless  common  sense  in  what 
she  said,  but  nevertheless  it  delighted  him 
not.  He  wished  that  she  could  in  such  mo- 
ments as  these,  yield  herself  fully  to  the  illu- 
sion which  possessed  him  that  their  life  to- 
gether would  be  one  sempiternal  climax  of 
joy. 

"I  honestly  believe,"  he  asserted  solemnly, 
"that  sometimes  two  natures  are  so  perfectly 
adjusted  that  there  is  no  friction  between 
them." 

"Kubbish,"  she  replied,  quoting  a  newly 
read  Shaw  preface,  "people  aren't  meant  to 
stew  in  love  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave." 
•  She  couldn't  understand  her  own  mood. 
She  had  arranged  this  evening  with  Stevens 
to  tell  him  that  she  was  ready  to  marry  him, 
and  she  found  herself  unable  to.  Her  con- 
scious purpose  was  the  same  as  ever. 

Yet  as  often  as  she  summoned  herself  to 
look  the  look  or  keep  the  silence  which  would 
put  in  tram  his  declaration,  it  seemed  as  if 

169 


Rebellion 

she  received  from  her  depths  a  sudden  and 
imperative  mandate  against  it. 

It  was  her  long  silence  while  she  was  pon- 
dering over  these  strange  things  which  gave 
him  a  false  cue  and  he  entered  to  the  center 
of  her  consciousness. 

"This  wasting  of  ourselves  must  go  on  un- 
til he  dies?" 

"The  only  way  out  is  death,"  she  said 
slowly,  "or  apostasy." 

* i  Apostasy  f ' '  The  word  had  an  ugly  sound 
even  for  him. 

"I  know  one  woman  who  did  it  for  love  of 
a  man." 

"And  she  is  happy?" 

Georgia  did  not  answer  at  once. 

"And  she  is  happy,"  he  repeated  seriously, 
as  if  much  depended  on  the  question,  "or 
not?" 

"She  says  she  is,"  she  answered,  "but  I 
don't  think  so.  She  doesn't  look  happy — 
ahout  the  eyes — one  notices  those  things. 
She  seems  changed — and — reckless  and — and 
she's  not  always  been  faithful  to  her  hus- 
band. I  found  it  out." 

"You  found  it  out?" 

"Yes,  she  asked  me  to  go  to  a  dinner  party. 

170 


The  Palace  of  the  Unborn 

Her  husband  was  away  from  town — there 
were  four  of  us — and  I  could  tell  what  it 
meant.  She  wanted  me  to  do  what  she  was 
doing — and  we  had  been  friends  so  long — we 
took  our  first  communion  together.'' 

66  Georgia, "  he  asked,  chilled  through  with 
fright,  '  '  do  you  often  have  that  sort  of  thing 
put  in  your  way  1 ' ' 

"I  have  plenty  of  chances  to  make  a  mess 
of  life,"  she  replied,  " every  woman  does, 
who's  passable  looking,  especially  downtown 
women." 

"Dearest  heart,"  he  begged,  "I  can't  go 
on  thinking  of  that  the  rest  of  my  life.  Marry 
me  and  let  me  shield  and  shelter  you  from  all 
this " 

"This  what?" 

"Temptation,"  he  blurted,  "and  rotten, 
unwomanly  down-town  life.  A  woman  ought 
to  be  taken  care  of,  in  her  own  home,  by  the 
man  who  loves  her  and  respects  and  honors 
her." 

Georgia  smiled.  "Do  you  know,"  she 
asked,  "that's  almost  exactly  word  for  word 
the  way  he  talked  to  this  friend  of  mine  and 
persuaded  her  to  get  her  divorce  and  leave 
the  Church  and  marry  him — almost  word  for 

171 


Rebellion 

word — she  told  me  about  it  at  the  time.  And 
now  she's — fooling  him.  It  didn't  shield 
her  from  temptation." 

"But  I  have  known  people  to  be  divorced 
and  marry  again  and  live  perfectly  happy 
and  respectable  lives." 

"Protestants — weren't  they?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Ah,  that's  the  point.  They  do  what  they 
think  is  right,  but  a  Catholic  does  what  she 
knows  is  wrong,  and  begins  her  new  marriage 
in  a  wilful  sin,  so  what  can  grow  from  it  but 
more  sin?" 

Her  voice,  naturally  full  and  resonant  like 
a  trained  speaker's,  was  thin  and  uncertain 
as  she  told  of  the  apostate.  Her  other  self, 
the  woman  of  the  past,  was  ascendant,  but  she 
fought  against  what  she  conceived  to  be  a 
momentary  weakness,  and  forced  her  resolu- 
tion as  a  skillful  rider  forces  an  unwilling 
horse  over  a  jump.  "But  if  you  want  me," 
she  said  in  words  that  trembled,  "you  can 
have  me." 

"If  I  want  you "  He  took  her  in  his 

arms  and  kissed  her. 

It  seemed  to  her  definitely  in  that  instant 
that  nothing  could  ever  be  quite  the  same 

172 


The  Palace  of  the  Unborn 

with  her  again,  that  a  certain  fine  purity  had 
passed  from  her  forever  and  she  must  live 
thereafter  on  a  lower  plane. 

All  the  modernistic  teachings,  books,  lec- 
tures, pamphlets  with  which  she  had  in  re- 
cent years  packed  her  head,  on  woman's  right 
to  selfhood,  parasitic  females,  prostitution 
in  marriage,  endowed  motherhood,  sexual 
slavery;  and  all  the  practical  philosophy  of 
the  success  school  which  she  had  learned  from 
years  of  contact  with  money-makers,  that  life 
is  more  for  the  daring  than  for  the  good, 
were  washed  away  by  the  earlier-formed  and 
deeper-lying  impressions  of  her  youth. 

She  was  aware  of  a  fleeting  return  of  her 
virginal  feeling  that  to  give  herself  to  one 
man  was  humbleness  sufficient  for  a  lifetime ; 
but  to  give  herself  to  two  would  be  the  per- 
manent lowering  of  pride. 

But  she  felt  that  for  her  the  moving  finger 
had  writ  and  passed.  There  could  be  no  more 
going  back  or  shadow  of  turning.  Hence- 
forth, for  good  or  evil,  she  belonged  to  this 
man. 

She  yielded  to  his  kisses,  as  many  as  he 
wished,  in  passive  submission. 

"You  will  always  be  good  to  me — promise 

173 


Rebellion 

that,  promise  me,  dear,"  she  begged,  "be- 
cause if  you're  not  I'll  "  Her  voice 

choked  and  two  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 
Gone  was  her  freedom  and  her  pride.  She 
spoke,  not  as  her  ideal  had  been,  partner 
speaking  to  partner  on  even  terms,  but  as  a 
servant  to  her  master,  asking  not  justice  but 
mercy. 

Her  solitary  happiness  in  this  hour  was  the 
feeling  that  the  man  was  the  stronger,  that 
despite  his  greenness  and  awkwardness  and 
the  ease  with  which  she  had  hitherto  con- 
trolled him,  fundamentally  his  nature  was 
bigger  than  hers  and  that  she  was  compelled 
to  follow  him.  In  her  new  feebleness  she 
rejoiced  that  she  sinned  not  boldly  and  reso- 
lutely, but  because  she  had  been  taken  in  the 
traditional  manner  by  the  overpowering 
male. 

"I  have  been  looking  forward  to  this  for 
longer  than  you  suspect, ' '  said  she,  * i  and  now 
that  it's  come,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  at  a  play 
watching  it  happen  to  some  one  else. ' ' 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  then 
quickly  turned  her  white  face  to  his.  "Why, 
what  is  the  matter?"  he  asked.  "You  are 
shaking  like  a  leaf." 

174 


The  Palace  of  the  Unborn 

"I  think  I'd  better  go  home.  It  is  damp 
and  cold  sitting  here."  After  they  had  gone 
a  few  steps,  she  said,  with  a  weak  little 
laugh,  "I've  lost  my  enthusiasm  for  walk- 
ing. Put  me  on  the  car." 

He  began  to  be  thoroughly  frightened. 
" Don't  worry,  dear,"  she  reassured  him. 
"Nothing  can  change  us  now.  ."We  belong  to 
each  other — for  keeps." 

They  said  little  to  each  other  in  the  bright- 
ly lighted  street  car.  She  sat  slightly  crum- 
pled, her  shoulders  rounded,  swaying  to  the 
stops  and  starts.  She  breathed  slowly 
through  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  had  the 
strange  wide-open  look  of  a  young  bird's, 
when  you  hold  it  in  your  hands.  And  he,  but 
partly  understanding,  yearned  for  her  help- 
lessly, and  covenanted  with  his  nameless  gods 
that  no  sorrow  should  ever  come  to  her  from 
him. 

She  hung  to  his  arm  as  they  walked  up  the 
half -lighted  street  where  she  lived,  between 
rows  of  three,  four  and  five  story  flat  build- 
ings full  of  drama.  Outside  her  own  she 
stopped  and  looked  up  to  her  windows.  They 
were  brightly  lighted. 

Instead  of  using  her  key,  she  rang  the  bell 

175 


Rebellion 

to  her  apartment.  She  heard  APs  voice  in 
answer. 

"Is  Jim  there  1"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

She  turned  to  Stevens  with  a  flash  of  her 
old  positiveness. 

"I  must  go  somewhere  else.  And  I  don't 
feel  like  telling  my  troubles  to  any  friend  to- 
night. So  will  you  take  me  to  a  hotel  ? ' ' 

They  returned  to  the  car  line  by  an  unusual 
street,  lest  Al  should  come  looking  after  her, 
she  driving  her  sick  frame  along  by  sheer 
will,  her  lover  resolved  that  if  need  be  he 
would  save  her  from  herself. 

She  waited  while  he  engaged  her  room,  and 
when  he  came  bringing  her  key,  he  said,  "I 
have  put  you  down  as  Miss  Talbot." 

"Oh,  you  were  nice  to  think  of  that.  I 
like  to  imagine  sometimes  it  still  is  so. ' '  She 
took  his  hand.  "Good  night,  dear,"  she 
whispered.  ' 1 1  will  be  a  true  wife  to  you. J ' 


176 


XV 

ME.  SILVEEMAN 

Stevens  called  up  Georgia's  room  in  the 
morning  to  ask  how  she  had  slept  and  she 
reported,  "Well — that  is,  pretty  well,"  which 
wasn't  true,  for  she  had  tossed  wretchedly 
through  the  night.  By  careful  brushing  and 
buying  a  shirtwaist  she  managed  to  measur- 
ably freshen  her  appearance,  though  she 
reached  the  office  with  tired  eyes  and  hectic 
splotches  beneath  her  eyes.  Al  was  there  be- 
fore her  waiting  with  white  face. 

' '  Georgia, ' '  he  began  miserably,  "  I  've  been 
hunting  the  town  for  you.  Where  have  you 
been?" 

"  Alone." 

"You've  frightened  us  half  to  death. 
Mother's  sick  over  it." 

"You  can  have  Jim  in  the  house,  or  me, 
but  not  both  of  us." 

She  would  give  him  no  more  satisfaction, 
and  he  was  turning  away  angry  at  her 
obstinacy,  when  Mason  came  up  to  greet  her. 
177 


Rebellion 

"Good  morning. " 

"Good  morning." 

Al  quickly  divined  that  here  was  the  man. 
It  was  written  in  the  way  he  looked  at  her, 
and  in  Georgia's  sudden  sidelong  glance  at 
Al  to  see  if  he  saw. 

"I'd  like  a  word  with  you,"  said  the  broth- 
er to  the  lover,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder 
with  studied  rudeness,  "now." 

Stevens  didn't  understand  the  situation, 
but  he  was  properly  resentful,  and  lowered 
at  the  stranger.  In  these  subtle  days  of  com- 
merce, finger-tips  on  collar  bones  may  con- 
vey all  that  was  once  meant  by  a  glove  in 
the  face. 

i '  My  brother,  Mr.  Stevens, ' '  she  explained. 
They  did  not  shake  hands.  Mason  was  not 
quite  sure  from  the  young  fellow's  expres- 
sion just  what  might  happen,  but  he  was  sure 
it  had  better  not  happen  right  there.  "Let's 
get  out  of  the  office — and  you  can  have  as 
many  words  as  you  want,"  said  he.  Georgia 
arose  to  go  with  them. 

4 'No,  don't  you  come,"  said  Stevens. 

"I  think  perhaps  it  would  be  better." 

"But  it  wouldn't.  You  stay  here,"  the 
man  answered  with  great  positiveness.  She 

178 


Mr.  Silverman 

sank  obediently  in  the  chair,  to  the  disgusted 
amazement  of  her  brother,  and  let  them  go 
alone. 

"Were  you  out  with  her  last  night ?" 

"Yes." 

The  lad  sunk  his  hand  to  his  coat  pocket, 
his  wild  young  brain  aflame  with  violence  and 
romance  and  vengeance  and  the  memory  of 
Moxey's  sweetheart's  uncle  who  had  slain  the 
despoiler  of  his  home.  Stevens  was  near 
death  and  he  knew  it,  but  he  never  batted  an 
eye  as  Al  reported  later  to  Moxey. 

'  i  I  knew  it  damned  well.  She  said  she  was 
alone."  His  hand  tightened  on  the  auto- 
matic, pressing  down  the  safety  lock,  and  he 
pointed  the  gun,  so  that  he  could  shoot 
through  his  pocket  and  kill. 

"She  was,  after  eleven.    I  left  her  then." 

"Prove  it.    You've  got  to,"  insultingly. 

' '  Go  look  at  the  hotel  register,  for  the  name 
of  Miss  Georgia  Talbot." 

Al  grunted.  Here  was  a  concrete  fact — 
subject  to  verification,  yes  or  no.  "All  right," 
he  vouchsafed  curtly,  "if  it  turns  out  that 
way — but  one  more  thing — keep  away  from 
her  after  this  altogether — understand."  Al 
shot  out  his  jaw  and  swung  around  his  pocket 

179 


Rebellion 

with  the  barrel  pointing  straight  at  Stevens' 
middle.  He  looked  just  then  a  good  deal  like 
a  young  tough  delivering  a  serious  threat, 
which  he  was. 

Stevens  shoved  his  derby  hat  back  and 
laughed.  "If  you  think  you  can  run  me 
around  with  the  pop-gun,  guess  again.  I'm 
going  to  marry  Georgia  and  you're  coming 
to  the  wedding/'  he  stepped  right  up  to  the 
gun  and  tapped  Al  sharply  on  the  shoulder, 
"understand." 

It  was  perhaps  a  chancy  thing  to  do,  for 
the  lad  had  worked  himself  into  a  state  of 
self-righteous  anger,  and  his  vanity  was  sav- 
agely exulted  by  the  sensation  of  putting  it 
over  on  a  full-grown  man  to  his  face.  But 
Stevens  had  acted  instinctively  as  he  fre- 
quently did  in  stressful  moment  and  his  in- 
stinct played  him  true  this  time. 

"She  ain't  allowed  to  marry  again,  so  you 
keep  off  the  grass,"  he  answered  loudly,  but 
his  voice  broke  and  shot  up  an  octare  as  he 
took  his  hand  from  his  pocket  to  clench  his 
fist  and  shake  it  in  the  other's  face. 

Whereat  Stevens  knew  he  had  him  and  an- 
swered quietly  in  his  most  matter-of-fact 
business  tones,  "That's  for  her  to  say— and 

180 


Mr.  Silverman 

she's  said  it."  He  smiled.  "You  know  she's 
free,  white,  and  twenty-one." 

Al,  not  sure  just  what  his  next  step  ought 
to  be,  walked  away,  probably  to  consult  with 
Moxey,  muttering  as  he  went,  "Well,  remem- 
ber I  warned  you. ' ' 

Stevens  returned  to  the  office  and  explained 
the  incident  briefly  to  Georgia,  "Oh,  the  kid 
was  excited  at  first,  but  I  reassured  him." 
While  they  were  talking  the  old  man  rang 
her  buzzer  and  asked  her  to  have  Mr.  Stevens 
come  in. 

A  dark,  beaked,  heavy-browed,  much- 
dressed  gentleman  was  in  the  old  man's 
office,  introduced  to  Mason  as  Mr.  Silverman. 

Mr.  Silverman  deserves  a  paragraph  or 
two.  He  was  said  to  be  a  Polish,  a  Eussian 
or  a  Spanish  Jew,  but  nobody  knew  for  sure 
or  dared  ask  him,  for  he  didn't  like  it.  At 
sixteen  or  thereabouts,  he  came  to  the  com- 
pany as  an  office  boy,  and  in  two  months  was 
indispensable.  At  thirty-seven,  owing  partly 
to  the  conscientious  performance  of  his  duties 
and  more  to  his  earnestness  in  pulling  feet 
from  the  rungs  above  him,  and  stamping  fin- 
gers from  the  rungs  below,  he  was  elected  to 
a  position  especially  created  for  him,  to-wit, 

181 


Rebellion 

Executive  Secretary  to  the  President  of  The 
Eastern  Life  Insurance  Company  of  New 
York,  which  gave  him  everything  to  say  about 
the  running  of  it  except  the  very  last  word. 

Perhaps  once  a  quarter  he  was  reversed, 
and  always  on  some  extremely  important 
matter  involving  the  investment  of  funds. 
This  galled  him  beyond  measure,  but  he  kept 
it  to  himself. 

At  the  last  annual  election,  he  would  have 
presented  himself  as  a  candidate  for  presi- 
dent, or  at  least  for  first  vice-president  with 
power  to  act,  but  after  sizing  up  the  way  the 
proxies  were  running  for  the  new  directorate, 
he  knew  that  crowd  would  never  stand  for 
him,  so  he  squelched  his  own  boom  for  the 
time  being,  and  waited.  The  title  was  re-con- 
ferred for  the  fifteenth  time  upon  a  charming 
but  delicate  plutocrat  of  the  fourth  genera- 
tion of  New  Yorkers,  who  was  compelled  to 
spend  his  term  health-hunting  in  European 
spas,  where  Mr.  Silverman  took  delight  in 
sending  him  for  decision  a  copious  stream  of 
unimportant  but  vexatiously  technical  ques- 
tions, which  much  disturbed  the  inyalid's  se- 
renity, for  he  had  entered  the  company  at  the 
top,  and  didn't  know  detail.  Mr.  Silverman 

182 


Mr.  Silverman 

himself  settled  the  more  important  matters, 
inasmuch  as  there  wasn't  time  to  send  to  Eu- 
rope and  wait  for  an  answer.  Whenever  he 
reached  for  a  stronger  hold,  he  had  an  in- 
controvertible excuse,  and  he  got  to  know  Mr. 
Morgan  personally. 

He  was  stocky,  with  ample  room  for  his 
digestion,  and  like  most  fighting  men,  he  had 
a  good  thick  neck  that  carried  plenty  of  blood 
to  his  head.  His  unpleasantest  trait  was  his 
shame  of  race,  and  his  most  agreeable  one 
an  understanding  love  of  music.  His  only 
exercise  was  strong  black  cigars,  and  every- 
one on  the  company's  payroll  dreaded  his 
seemingly  preternatural  knowledge  of  what 
was  going  on. 

' '  Mr.  Stevens, ' '  said  he, i '  sit  down.  I  have 
heard  of  you."  Then  to  allow  that  pregnant 
remark  to  sink  in  he  turned  to  Georgia. 
"Take  this,  please:  'Mr.  W.  F.  Plaisted, 
General  Agent  in  charge  S.  W.  Division, 
Eastern  Life  Insurance  Company,  Kansas 
City,  Mo.  Dear  Sir:  Please  furnish  the 
bearer,  Mr.  Mason  Stevens,  with  whatever  in- 
formation he  desires.  He  is  my  personal 
representative.  With  kind  regards,  Yours 
truly,  Executive  Secretary  to  the  President.' 

183 


Rebellion 

i  l  That  is  all. ' '  He  nodded  to  Georgia,  and 
she  departed.  The  old  man  pussy-footed 
after  her,  leaving  the  other  two  together  in 
his  private  office. 

"You  are  to  take  the  nine  o'clock  train  to- 
night for  Kansas  City  to  prepare  a  report 
for  me  on  why  we  aren't  getting  more  busi- 
ness in  the  town  and  our  competitors  less. 
Here  are  some  letters  from  New  York  to  cer- 
tain banks  there  which  will  admit  you  to  their 
confidence.  Find  out  all  you  can  about  Plai- 
sted  and  his  office  before  you  go  to  him.  Send 
me  a  night  letter  to  my  hotel  every  night  as 
to  your  progress.  Use  this  code."  He  took 
a  typewritten  sheet  of  synonyms  from  his 
pocket.  "Should  you  cross  the  trail  of  an- 
other investigator  for  the  Eastern,  you  are 
not  to  reveal  yourself  to  him.  This  point  you 
are  to  bear  in  mind. ' '  He  paused  for  an  an- 
swer. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Stevens. 

' '  Your  expense  money  will  be  liberal ;  and 
mind,  no  talk — not  even  a  hint  to  your  best 
girl.  I  suppose,  of  course,  there  i«  one." 
Mason  smiled,  but  did  not  answer.  "I  am 
told  you  are  not  married." 

"No,  sir." 

184 


Mr.  Silverman 

"  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well.  Women  are 
to  live  with,  not  to  travel  with,  and  you're 
still  traveling."  Mr.  Silverman  lit  a  fifty- 
center,  and  then,  being  a  natural-born  com- 
mander, topped  off  his  instructions  with 
hopes  of  loot.  "Good  luck,  young  man. 
You're  shaking  hands  with  your  future  on 
this  trip." 

Mason  came  from  the  interview  conse- 
crated to  the  task  of  getting  the  goods  on 
Plaisted.  Going  after  him  was  like  going 
after  ivory  in  Africa.  Landing  a  prospect 
was  as  tame  relatively  as  plugging  ducks  on 
the  Illinois  Kiver.  For  Plaisted  had  been  a 
big  man  in  the  company  in  his  day,  though 
getting  a  little  old  now.  With  solid  connec- 
tions through  Missouri,  Kansas  and  the 
Southwest,  if  he  fell,  he'd  fall  with  a  smash. 

Mason  rather  fancied  that  in  company 
politics  he  could  see  as  far  through  a  grind- 
stone as  his  neighbor,  if  it  had  a  hole  in  it. 
He  knew  that  there  was  a  hidden  but  bitter 
fight  for  control  of  the  business  between  the 
old  New  York  society  crowd  who  had  in- 
herited it,  and  the  younger  abler  men,  under 
the  leadership  of  Silverman,  who  had  grown 
up  from  the  ranks.  He  knew  that  his  own 

185 


Rebellion 

boss,  the  old  man,  lined  up  with  Silverman, 
but  that  Plaisted  had  delivered  the  south- 
western proxies  in  a  solid  block,  for  the  New 
York  ticket.  He  therefore  inferred  that  Sil- 
verman didn't  feel  strong  enough  to  remove 
Plaisted  without  a  pretty  plausible  reason 
and  that  he  was  being  sent  to  Kansas  City 
to  find  the  reason ;  and  failing  that,  to  make 
one,  which,  as  it  turned  out,  was  precisely 
what  he  did. 

He  set  out  on  his  mission  with  as  little 
compunction  as  a  soldier  who  had  received 
orders  to  shoot  to  kill.  For,  as  he  told  him- 
self, surely  Plaisted  had  also  pulled  down 
men  in  his  time.  Life  is  a  battle.  Therefore 
is  it  not  well  to  be  with  the  conqueror  and 
share  in  the  cut? 

If  he  could  now  make  good  with  Silverman, 
and,  more  especially,  convince  him  that  he 
was  a  live  one  who  would  keep  on  making 
good,  the  Jew  would  certainly  recognize  him 
in  the  reorganization.  He  had  visions  of  tool- 
ing along  the  macadam  in  his  Panno  Six  to 
a  vined  house  in  the  suburbs,  hidden  by  tall 
trees,  where,  in  a  trailing  gown,  Georgia 
would  walk  through  her  flowers  to  meet  him, 
with  a  small  hand  clinging  to  each  of  hers. 

186 


Mr.  Silverman 

Plaisted  had  now  become,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  his  competitor;  and  going  after 
your  competitors  is  the  life  of  trade.  As  for 
Mrs.  Plaisted — if  there  was  one — who  was 
she  against  Georgia? 


187 


XVI 

GEOEGIA  LEAVES  HOME 

He  expected  to  be  gone  several  weeks,  so 
Georgia  telephoned  the  janitor  to  tell  mama 
that  she  would  stay  down  for  dinner,  again, 
but  would  be  home  soon  afterwards.  Mason 
took  her  to  the  top  of  a  tall  building,  where 
there  was  a  sixty  cent  table  d'hote.  The 
topic,  of  course,  was  his  forthcoming  trip 
from  routine  to  adventure  and  its  probable 
effect  upon  their  fortunes. 

For  all  the  wise  saws  about  not  talking  to 
women,  one  may  hardly  dine  with  his  fiancee 
of  a  day  without  mention  of  the  marvelous 
opportunity  which  dropped  before  one  that 
morning  as  from  the  skies.  Especially  if  she 
is  in  the  same  business  and  heard  it  drop. 

So,  little  by  little,  one  thing  leading  to  an- 
other, he  told  her  everything  he  knew  or 
guessed  or  hoped.  He  did  not  once  forget 
Silverman's  injunction  to  silence,  as  he  bab- 
bled on.  It  stuck  in  his  mind  like  a  thorn  in 

188 


Georgia  Leaves  Home 

the  foot;  and,  telling  himself  he  was  a  fool 
to  talk,  he  talked.  The  precise  moment  didn't 
seem  to  come  when  he  could  frankly  say, 
without  offense,  "Georgia,  that  part  of  it  is 
a  secret/'  And  he  didn't  see  how  to  tempor- 
ize widely,  for  it  had  become  physically  im- 
possible for  him  to  lie  to  her,  though,  of 
course,  he  retained  the  use  of  his  faculties 
for  commerce  with  others. 

So  he  passed  on  the  ever  heavy  load  of 
silence,  hoping  that  she  could  hold  her  tongue 
if  he  couldn't.  It  was  as  much  her  affair  as 
his  anyway,  so  he  felt,  and  if  by  her  indis- 
cretion she  should  cut  him  out  of  Silverman's 
confidence  and  future  big  things,  she  would  in 
the  same  motion  cut  herself  out  of  a  Panno 
Six  and  a  house  in  the  trees  and  a  richer  cir- 
cle of  friends. 

But,  inasmuch  as  she  was  a  case-hardened 
private  secretary,  she  kept  her  faith  with 
him  in  this  thing  at  least.  If  he  never  has 
a  Panno  Six  it  wasn't  her  fault. 

The  most  surprising  thing  to  her  in  his 
narrative  was  that  it  did  not  more  greatly 
interest  her.  It  seemed  to  her  a  far-off  affair, 
impersonal,  like  something  she  was  reading 
in  the  papers.  Stevens  seemed  to  stand  out- 

189 


Rebellion 

side  her  area  of  life,  which  had  become  nar- 
row and  curiously  uneasy,  heavy  with  a  fu- 
ture in  which  he  was  not  concerned. 

At  first  he  attributed  the  listlessness,  which 
she  tried  to  conceal  but  could  not,  to  one  of 
the  widely  advertised  feminine  moods,  and 
he  tried  his  best  to  divert  her  not  merely  with 
pictures  of  their  future,  blissful  and  automo- 
bileful,  but  also  with  quips  and  cranks  and 
wanton  wiles.  No  go. 

So  when  course  VI  of  the  table  d'hote — nuts 
and  pecans,  three  of  each  to  the  order — was 
ended,  he  suggested  that  perhaps  she  would 
better  go  directly  home  instead  of  waiting 
downtown  with  him  until  his  train  went.  She 
acquiesced.  They  walked  to  the  "L"  in 
silence. 

Imagine  the  chagrin  of  a  knight  riding  off 
to  the  bloody  wars  from  a  ladye  who  didn't 
care  if  he  never  came  back.  That  was  how 
it  struck  him.  She  took  his  arm  to  climb  the 
steep  iron  stairs,  and  at  the  top  stopped  a 
moment  to  get  her  breath. 

"Dear  heart,"  she  said,  "don't  have  all 
those  awful  thoughts  about  me — don't  you 
suppose  I  know  what  you're  thinking?  I've 


190 


Georgia  Leaves  Home 

been  dull  to-night,  but  my  head  is  simply 
splitting.  I  believe  I  'm  in  for  the  grip. ' ' 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  "I'm  sure  I  can 
take  you  home  and  get  back  in  time." 

"Bather  than  have  you  risk  it,  I'll  stay 
down  until  your  train  goes." 

"Promise  me  then  to  get  a  doctor  and  go 
right  to  bed." 

"I'll  go  right  to  bed — I  can  barely  hold  my 
head  up,  and  I'll  get  a  doctor  in  the  morning 
if  I'm  not  better." 

There  were  only  two  or  three  other  people 
on  the  long  platform,  so  he  kissed  her  good- 
bye. Then  the  screened  iron  gate  was  slapped 
to  behind  her,  the  guard  jerked  his  cord,  she 
smiled  weakly  and  waved  her  hand  back  at 
him,  and  it  was  all  over  for  a  much  longer 
time  than  he  had  any  idea  of. 

He  watched  her  train  until  the  tail  lights 
turned  the  loop,  then  said  "Hell,"  lit  a  cigar, 
pushed  his  hat  back,  sighed  and  went  to  check 
his  trunk. 

He  sat  up  in  the  smoking  compartment 
gassing  with  drummers  until  the  last  of  them 
turned  in,  sympathized  for  awhile  with  the 
Pullman  porter,  who  suffered  volubly  as  soon 
as  Mason  gave  him  permission  to.  He  had 

191 


Rebellion 

been  married  that  very  afternoon  and  now 
lie  was  off  to  Los  Angeles  and  back,  a  ten- 
day  journey,  leaving  behind  him  as  a  dark 
and  shining  mark  for  those  who  realized  the 
devilishness  of  his  itinerary  an  unprotected, 
young,  gay-hearted  bride.  He  appreciated 
the  snares  that  would  be  set  for  her  by  his 
brothers  of  brush  and  berth.  He'd  been  a 
bachelor  himself.  "Yas,  sah,  railroadin'  is 
sure  one  yalla  dawg's  life  for  a  fambly 
man." 

Stevens  lay  awake  a  long  time  that  night 
thinking  of  the  future,  and  Georgia  lay 
awake  a  long  time  considering  the  past.  She 
felt  hot  and  thirsty ;  three  or  four  times  she 
got  out  of  bed  and  ran  the  faucet  until  the 
water  was  cold  and  bathed  her  face  and 
drank. 

After  she  had  left  Stevens  she  had  taken  a 
cross  seat  in  the  car  facing  homeward,  and, 
placing  her  burning  cheek  against  the  window 
for  coolness,  had  dozed  off  for  many  stations. 
When  she  awoke  with  a  start  at  the  one  be- 
yond her  own,  her  personality  had  slipped  to 
its  earlier  center  as  definitely  as  when  a 
clutch  slips  from  high  to  second  speed. 

It  is  said  that  the  last  step  gained  by  the 

192 


Georgia  Leaves  Home 

individual  or  the  race  is  the  first  step  lost, 
in  sickness,  age  and  fear.  So  Georgia's  ill- 
ness began  its  attack  on  the  topmost  layer  of 
her  character,  that  part  of  it  which  had  been 
built  in  the  recent  years.  She  was  driven, 
as  it  were,  to  a  lower  floor  of  her  own  edifice 
and  no  longed  saw  so  wide  a  view. 

Her  pride  and  self-will  crumbled — for  the 
sick  aren't  proud — and  her  modernity  tric- 
kled away.  After  all,  was  it  not  more  peace- 
ful to  do  what  people  thought  you  ought  to, 
than  to  fight  them  constantly  for  your  own 
way?  Life  was  too  short  and  human  nature 
too  weak  for  the  stress  and  strain  of  such 
ceaseless  resistance  as  she  had  made  in  the 
past  few  years  against  her  family,  the  friends 
of  her  family,  and  the  Church.  For  God's 
sake  let  her  now  have  peace. 

Yes,  for  God's  sake.  The  words  had  come 
irreverently  to  her  mind.  But  after  all,  could 
she  or  anyone  else  have  peace  except  from 
God?  and  was  there  any  other  gift  as  sweet! 

She  knew  there  was  one  sure  anodyne  for 
her  troubled  spirit,  and  only  one — the  con- 
fessional. She  had  kept  away  too  long  al- 
ready, for  more  than  two  years.  She  would 
go  to-morrow,  or  perhaps  the  next  day,  and 

193 


Rebellion 

wash  her  soul  clean.  Father  Hervey  would 
talk  to  her  as  if  to  rip  her  heart  strings  out, 
but  in  the  end  he  would  leave  her  with  peace, 
after  she  had  promised  and  vowed  to  give  up 
her  mortal  sin.  Poor  Mason,  that  meant  him. 
She  wept  a  few  weak  tears,  then  dried  her 
eyes  on  the  corner  of  the  sheet. 

So  this  was  to  be  the  end  of  her  spiritual 
adventuring,  the  end  of  the  free  expression 
of  her  free  being,  and  selfhood,  and  all  those 
other  valorous  things  she  had  rejoiced  in. 

She  wasn't  able  any  longer  to  go  on  with 
it.  She  must  desert  the  army  of  women  in 
the  day  of  battle,  the  army  led  by  Curie,  Key, 
Pankhurst,  Schreiner,  Addams,  Gilman,  and 
cross  over  to  the  adversary,  the  encompass- 
ing Church.  It  would  absorb  her  into  its  vast 
unity  as  a  drop  disappears  in  the  sea.  It 
would  think  for  her  and  will  for  her.  She 
would  be  animated  witli  its  life,  not  her  own ; 
but  it  would  suffuse  her  with  the  comfort 
that  is  past  understanding.  She  would  eat 
the  lotus  and  submit.  She  was  not  strong, 
like  great  people. 

Perhaps  the  priest  would  suggest  her  re- 
turn to  Jim.  But  that  wasn't  in  the  law.  He 
could  only  suggest  and  urge  it.  He  could 

194 


Georgia  Leaves  Home 

not  insist  on  it  She  couldn't  go  back  to  Jim, 
she  couldn't,  she  couldn't.  She  sobbed  as  if 
there  were  a  presence  in  the  room  which  she 
hoped  to  move  by  her  tears. 

A  clear  vision  of  her  husband  came  before 
her,  as  she  had  often  seen  him,  sitting  on 
the  edge  of  this  very  bed,  in  undershirt  and 
trousers,  leaning  forward,  breathing  abomin- 
ably loud,  his  paunch  sagging,  unlacing  his 
shoes.  Eight  or  wrong,  good  or  bad,  heaven 
or  hell,  that  was  one  sight  the  priest  should 
never  make  her  see  again.  She  hated  Jim 
and  loathed  him  forever. 

As  she  was  dressing  next  morning  she 
called  to  Al  to  please  go  down  and  telephone 
for  the  doctor,  for  she  knew  she  could  never 
go  through  the  day's  work  without  medicine. 

Presently  Dr.  Eandall  bowled  up,  a  jolly 
stout  man,  smiling  gayly  and  crinkling  up 
the  corners  of  his  eyes,  though  he  had  slept 
just  eight  hours  in  the  last  seventy-two.  The 
family  was  glumly  finishing  breakfast  when 
he  came.  Throughout  the  meal  Mrs.  Talbot 
had  been  burningly  aware  of  the  contrast  be- 
tween decent,  self-respecting  women  with  a 
thought  to  themselves,  and  brazen  young  fly- 
by-nights  in  thin  waists,  who  run  after  men 

195 


Rebellion 

and  make  themselves  free ;  but  she  threw  only 
a  few  pertinent  remarks  into  the  atmosphere, 
because  the  poor  girl  was  so  evidently  out  of 
sorts,  with  her  high  color  and  not  touching  a 
bite  of  food.  Indeed,  a  body  could  hardly 
help  feeling  sorry  for  her,  for  all  her  wicked 
pride  of  will ;  very  likely  this  sickness  was  a 
judgment  on  her  for  it. 

When  Dr.  Eandall  had  considered  her 
pulse,  her  temperature  and  her  tongue,  and 
asked  half  a  dozen  questions,  he  told  Al  to 
send  for  a  carriage  and  take  her  immediately 
to  Columbus  Hospital. 

"Why,  doctor/'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Talbot, 
terrorized,  "is  it  anything  serious ?" 

"Typhoid — I'll  go  telephone  to  let  'em 
know  you're  coming." 

The  doctor  departed  and  Mrs.  Talbot  took 
Georgia  on  her  lap  and  crooned  over  her  un- 
til the  carriage  came. 


196 


XVII 

THE   LIGHT   FLICKERS 

It  was  decided  that  Georgia  was  to  have 
a  bed  in  a  ward  at  eight  dollars  a  week. 
Private  rooms  were  twenty-five  and  they 
couldn't  afford  that  during  the  month  she 
would  be  laid  up,  particularly  since  her  pay 
would  stop  automatically  after  her  third  day 
of  absence.  The  office  rule  was  very  strict 
on  that  point. 

She  sat  limply  in  the  waiting  room  while  Al 
was  attending  to  her  registration  and  her 
mother  was  upstairs  with  the  nurse  unpack- 
ing her  things.  On  the  opposite  wall  were  a 
couple  of  windows,  sharply  framing  vistas 
into  the  park  across  the  street,  and  she  saw 
two  fragments  of  the  path  where  she  had 
often  walked  on  Sunday  mornings  with 
Stevens. 

It  was  this  same  wall  in  front  of  her  which 
had  seemed  so  sullen  gray  and  prison-color 
from  the  other  side  and  which  had  sometimes 
turned  their  talk  to  sombre  things  —  death 

197 


Rebellion 

and  immortality.  From  the  inside,  as  she 
now  saw  it,  the  wall  was  not  gray  but  cheer- 
fully reddish  brown,  patterned  vertically  like 
a  thrasher's  wing. 

Two  pictures  hung  by  the  window,  of  the 
pope  and  of  Frances  Xavier  Cabrini,  founder 
of  the  order  of  nuns  that  conducted  the  hos- 
pital. They  were  photographs,  she  thought, 
or  reproductions  from  photographs. 

She  looked  closely  at  them,  first  at  the  old 
man,  then  at  the  old  woman.  She  saw  in 
them  more  than  she  had  ever  seen  in  such 
pictures  before.  They  offered  at  least  one 
positive  answer  to  the  riddle,  perhaps  the 
safest  answer  for  such  as  she  —  to  submit 
oneself  through  one's  lifetime  so  as  to  attain 
at  the  end  of  it  the  matchless  serenity  of 
those  two  untroubled  faces. 

It  came  to  her  then  in  a  moment  of  more 
than  natural  revelation,  as  it  seemed,  that 
she  must  seek  the  peace  which  these  two  had 
found. 

She  crossed  slowly  to  the  desk  in  the  cor- 
ner, to  write  what  she  knew  might  be  the  last 
of  the  thousands  of  letters  she  had  written. 

My  dear,  she  began  on  the  hospital  paper, 
I  am  here  mth,  not  to  cause  him  anxiety  in 

198 


The  Light  Flickers 

the  beginning  of  his  great  enterprise,  a  touch 
of  the  grip.  Nothing  serious.  In  haste  and 
headache.  Georgia. 

She  paused.  Even  if  it  must  end  by  her 
giving  him  up,  she  loved  him.  Should  she, 
by  an  omission  so  significant,  upset  and  dis- 
tress him  and  perhaps  hinder  him  in  a  task 
which,  well  performed,  would  bring  great 
things  to  him,  if  never  now  to  her?  I  love 
you,  she  added,  always. 

A  second  note  she  dated  a  week  forward. 
My  dear,  I  haven't  pulled  around  again  as 
soon  as  I  expected,  but  the  rest  has  done  me 
a  world  of  good.  Don't  worry  about  me — 
they  say  I've  a  constitution  like  a  horse.  For 
my  sake,  make  good,  Mason — you've  got  to. 
With  love,  lots  of  it,  always,  G. 

A  third  she  put  two  weeks  ahead.  Dearest, 
I'm  doing  fine  and  will  be  out  soon  now.  Your 
letters  have  been  such,  a  comfort.  It's  almost 
two  thousand  years  since  we've  seen  each 
other,  isn't  it?  I  love  you,  dear.  Georgia. 

She  put  them  in  their  envelopes,  addressed 
them,  and  wrote  1,  2  and  3  respectively  in 
the  upper  right  hand  corners  in  such  a  way 
that  the  stamps  would  conceal  them.  Al 
came  in  as  she  was  finishing,  and  she  ex- 

199 


Rebellion 

plained  how  she  wanted  them  mailed  a  week 
apart.  At  first  he  refused,  but  at  last  was 
over-persuaded  by  her  misery.  He  promised 
to  do  her  errand  as  she  asked,  and  kept  his 
promise  faithfully. 

A  page  boy  chanting  "Mis-ter  Stev-uns, 
Mis-ter  Eiggle-hei-murr,  Mis-ter  An-droo 
Brown,  Mis-ter  Noise,  Mis-ter  Stevuns," 
caught  Mason  in  the  grill  paying  a  lot  of  at- 
tention to  a  first  vice-president  over  a 
planked  tenderloin,  German  fried  and  large 
coffee.  Accordingly  he  made  his  first  report 
not  to  Silverman,  but  to  the  old  man,  thus : 


Night  Letter 

548       ch      jf      63 

Kansas  City  Mo  10/17 
Fredk.  Tatton, 

Eastern  Life  Insurance  Co.  60  Monroe  st.,  Chicago. 

Strict  confidence  am  engaged  marry  your  secretary 
Georgia  Connor  who  now  sick  columbus  hospital 
please  arrange  hospital  authorities  give  her  best  care 
private  room  special  trained  nurse  my  expense  don't 
let  her  know  my  participation  say  attention  comes 
from  company  gratitude  her  fidelity  ability  also  keep 
her  name  payroll  until  return  duty  charge  my  account 
confidential  my  progress  here  satisfactory  wire  answer 
collect.  Stevens  814  AM 

200 


The  Light  Flickers 

The  old  man  himself  had  not  been  entirely 
immune  to  Georgia's  charm,  although  in  the 
office  and  before  him  she  had  steadily  veiled 
her  personality  behind  her  status  as  a  precise, 
prompt  and  well-lubricated  appanage  of  a 
Standard  Typewriter  No.  4.  So  it  was  only  a 
well  subdued  charm  that  the  old  man  sensed 
in  her,  stimulating  as  a  small  glass  of  syrupy 
liqueur. 

It  seemed  to  him  pathetic  that  the  silent, 
presentable,  self-respecting  young  woman,  to 
whom  for  over  a  year  now  he  had  been  re- 
vealing his  most  private,  money-making 
thoughts  almost  as  fast  as  they  came  to  him, 
might  never  smile  him  another  "good  morn- 
ing, "  agree  with  him  pleasantly  that  it  was 
hot  or  cold  or  wet,  and  get  rapidly  to  work 
on  his  business. 

She  was  so  accustomed  to  his  ways,  and  he 
hated  the  thought  of  breaking  in  another  one 
— but,  damn  it,  that  wasn't  all  by  any  means, 
he  liked  the  girl  on  her  own  account — she 
was  such  a  little  lady. 

The  old  man  did  some  rapid  telephoning 
and  was  able  to  answer  Stevens'  wire  half 
an  hour  after  he  got  it. 


201 


Rebellion 

Chicago  Ills.     Oct.18 

Mr.  Mason  Stevens, 

Hotel  Boston,  K  C  Mo 

Best  accommodations  provided  as  stipulated  salary 
continues  your  expense  diagnosis  simple  case  typical 
convalescense  anticipated  will  wire  promptly  new  de- 
velopments regarding  patient  warm  congratulations 

Fredk.  Tatton        949  AM 

The  old  man  naturally  supposed  that 
Mason  knew  the  nature  of  Georgia's  illness 
and  was  trying  to  reassure  him,  in  a  kind- 
ly way,  that  as  typhoid  cases  go  it  was  only 
a  very  little  one. 

Indeed,  the  old  man,  if  he  was  a  little  lax 
later  on  in  wiring  all  the  developments  in  the 
case — because  he  didn't  want  to  frighten  the 
young  man  into  throwing  up  his  investiga- 
tion in  the  very  middle  of  it — was  more  valu- 
ably helpful  in  another  way. 

When  the  fever  reached  its  crisis  he  got  a 
great  specialist  out  of  bed  for  a  three  o  'clock 
in  the  morning  consultation  over  the  little 
stenographer,  and  charged  his  costly  loss  of 
sleep  to  the  company  instead  of  to  Mason 
Stevens,  Mr.  Silverman  cordially  approving. 

They  said  afterwards  that  Georgia  could 
not  have  taken  another  small  step  toward 

202 


The  Light  Flickers 

death,  without  dying.  She  flickered  and  gut- 
tered like  a  lamp  whose  oil  has  been  used  up. 
For  a  few  moments  it  seemed  that  her  light 
had  been  put  out  altogether,  but  there  must 
have  been  a  tiny  spark  hidden  somewhere  in 
the  charred  wick,  for  the  doctors  brought  her 
back  by  artificial  stimulation,  and  you  can 
not  stimulate  the  dead. 

If  specialists  and  private  rooms  and  nurses 
give  sick  people  more  chance  of  getting  well, 
then  Stevens  and  the  old  man  and  Mr.  Silver- 
man  saved  Georgia  by  their  care  of  her,  for 
she  could  not  have  had  less  chance  to  live 
and  lived. 


203 


XVIII 

THE  PKIEST 

The  crisis  of  the  fever  came  upon  Georgia 
so  suddenly  that  she  had  lapsed  into  semi- 
consciousness  before  the  arrival  of  Father 
Hervey.  She  was  able,  in  making  her  confes- 
sion to  him,  barely  to  gasp  out  a  few  broken 
sentences  of  contrition. 

He  anointed  with  holy  oil  her  eyes,  ears, 
nostrils,  lips,  hands  and  feet,  absolving  her 
in  the  name  of  the  Trinity  from  those  sins 
which  she  truly  repented. 

When  at  last  she  came  out  of  the  shadow, 
her  mother  believed  that  it  was  the  priest 
even  more  than  the  doctors  who  had  saved 
her,  for  it  is  taught  that  the  reception  of  Ex- 
treme Unction  may  restore  health  to  the  body 
when  the  same  is  beneficial  to  the  soul. 

A  few  days  later  the  priest  came  again 
to  see  her  and  was  amazed  at  the  rapidity 
of  her  convalescence. 

"You're  out  of  the  woods  this  time,  Geor- 

204 


The  Priest 

gia,"  he  said,  "sure  enough.  But  I  can  tell 
you  you  had  us  frightened.''  He  spoke  with 
just  the  barest  shade  of  a  tip  of  a  brogue, 
too  slight  to  indicate  in  print. 

His  coat  was  shiny,  his  trousers  slightly 
frayed  at  the  bottom,  and  his  shoes  had  been 
several  times  half-soled.  A  parish  priest, 
throughout  his  life  he  had  kept  to  the  vow 
of  personal  poverty  as  faithfully  as  a  Jesuit. 

He  stayed  for  half  an  hour  and  made  him- 
self charming.  He  asked  the  nurse  not  to 
leave  the  room,  saying  that  he  needed  an  au- 
dience. He  had  some  new  stories,  he  said, 
and  he  wanted  to  test  them,  which  he  couldn't 
do  on  Georgia  alone,  she  was  so  solemn.  Be- 
sides, she  was  almost  sure  to  hash  them  up 
in  repeating  them,  and  he  had  a  reputation 
to  preserve.  There  was  a  shepherd  in  County 
Clare  whose  wife  was  from  County  Mayo, 
with  the  head  of  the  color  of  a  fox,  inside  and 
out.  And  so  forth. 

First  the  women  smiled  with  him,  then 
laughed,  then  roared.  His  touch  was  sure, 
his  shading  delicate,  his  technique  perfected. 
He  had  them  and  he  held  them.  It  was  ex- 
cellent medicine  for  the  sick  he  gave  them. 

Then  he  told  them  a  little  parish  gossip 

205 


Rebellion 

of  wedding  banns  he  thought  he  would  short- 
ly be  requested  to  publish.  His  eyes  twin- 
kled at  Georgia's  astonished  "You  don't  say 

— well,  what  she  sees  in  him "  And  he 

finished  his  pleasant  visit  with  a  couple  of 
little  anecdotes,  each  with  a  moral  subtly  in- 
troduced; simple  tales  of  heroism  and  self- 
sacrifice  that  had  lately  come  under  his 
notice. 

When  he  arose  to  go  Georgia  and  the  nurse 
bent  their  heads.  He  offered  a  short  little 
prayer,  gave  them  his  blessing  and  departed. 

He  had  not  said  a  word  in  a  serious  way  to 
Georgia  of  her  affairs.  But  she  knew  that 
he  was  merely  postponing. 

Before  his  decisive  interview  with  her  he 
prayed  earnestly  for  strength;  for  strength 
rather  than  guidance,  for  he  felt  no  shade 
of  doubt  that  the  path  which  he  would  urge 
her  to  take  was  the  right  one.  The  Church 
had  pointed  it  out  long  ago,  and  that  settled 
it.  He  never  questioned  the  wisdom  or  the 
inspiration  of  the  great  policies  of  the 
Church.  He  was  none  of  your  modernists, 
questioners  and  babblers;  he  was  a  veteran 
soldier,  a  fighting  private  in  the  army  which 
will  make  no  peace  but  a  victor's. 

206 


The  Priest 

"Georgia,"  lie  began,  "do  you  feel  strong 
enough  for  a  serious  talk?  For  if  you  don't 
I  will  come  later. ' ' 

She  was  sitting  up  in  bed.  Her  skin  had 
the  translucent  pallor  of  one  whose  life  has 
hung  in  the  balance.  Her  hair,  braided  and 
coiled  about  her  head,  had  lost  its  peculiar 
gloss  and  become  dry  and  brittle. 

"Yes,  Father;  I  am  strong  enough.  As 
well  have  it  over  with  now  as  any  time. ' ' 

There  was  more  of  defiance  in  her  words 
than  in  her  heart,  for  she  could  not  help  be- 
ing a  little  afraid  of  this  gentle,  gray  old 
man  with  the  Roman  collar.  Since  her  child- 
hood he  had  stood  in  her  mind  for  strange 
power  and  mystery.  Even  in  her  most  rebel- 
lious days  before  her  sickness  she  had  not 
been  willing  to  confront  him.  She  had  evaded 
him,  run  away  from  him.  Now  she  could  not 
run  away. 

"I  have  seen  Jim  since  I  was  here  last," 
said  he,  "and " 

"Father,  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say 
— and  a  reconciliation  is  impossible. 

1 1  You  know  that  he  has  stopped  drinking  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  I  heard  so." 


207 


Rebellion 

"It  is  true.  He  looks  fine,  fine.  Brov/n 
and  strong/' 

"I  didn't  think  he  ever  could  do  it,"  said 
she,  shaking  her  head.  i '  He  is  fighting  a  bat- 
tle he  has  lost  so  often." 

' '  There  is  none  who  could  help  him  so  much 
in  his  struggle  as  you." 

' '  Oh,  there, ' '  she  answered  quickly  and  bit- 
terly, "I  think  you  are  mistaken.  He  has 
paid  very  little  attention  to  me  or  my  wishes 
for  four  or  five  years  past." 

"Then,"  said  the  priest,"  he  has  learned 
his  lesson,  for  now  he  depends  on  you  more 
than  on  any  other  person." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  closed  her  eyes  and 
clenched  her  fists  as  tightly  as  she  could,  sum- 
moning her  will  to  resist.  But  she  realized 
that  her  will,  like  her  body,  was  not  in  health. 
The  sick  bed  is  the  priest's  harvest  time. 

"My  child,"  he  said  gently,  "there  is  a 
human  soul  struggling  for  its  salvation.  Will 
you  help  or  hinder  it  f  " 

"I  do  not  think  that  is  quite  a  fair  way 
to  put  it." 

"Not  fair?  With  all  my  soul  I  believe  it 
to  be  true.  And,  remember,  in  helping  him 


208 


The  Priest 

to  his  salvation  you  are  bringing  your  own 
nearer." 

"But  must  we  consider  everything,  every- 
thing from  the  standpoint  of  salvation?  Of 
course,  I  want  to  go  to  Heaven  when  I  die, 
but  I  want  to  be  as  happy  as  I  can  here  on 
earth,  too.  And  that's  impossible  if  I  live 
with  Jim." 

"If  you  had  a  child,"  he  asked  patiently, 
as  if  going  clear  back  to  the  beginning  again 
with  a  pupil  that  could  not  learn  easily, ' i  and 
he  said  to  you,  *  Mother,  I  don't  want  to  go 
to  school,  for  it  makes  me  unhappy  and  I 
want  to  be  as  happy  as  I  can,'  would  you 
let  him  have  his  way?"  He  paused,  but  she 
did  not  answer,  so  he  went  on  to  make  his 
point  clearer.  "Of  course  you  wouldn't  if 
you  loved  your  child.  You  would  make  him 
undergo  discipline  and  accept  instruction,  if 
you  wanted  him  to  be  a  fine,  strong,  brave 
man.  Our  life  on  earth  is  but  our  school 
days — our  preparation  for  the  greater  life  to 
oome.  And  we  are  not  always  allowed  to 
seek  immediate  happiness  any  more  than  lit- 
tle children  are." 

She  felt  that  she  was  being  overcome  in 
argument  by  the  priest,  as  everyone  must  be 

209 


Rebellion 

who  accepts  Ms  fundamental  premise,  name- 
ly, that  he  is  more  intimately  acquainted  with 
the  secrets  of  life  and  death  than  laymen  are. 

But  far  below  the  reach  of  argument  and 
theological  dialectics,  which  are  surface 
things,  from  the  deep  springs  of  her  life  the 
increasing  warning  flowed  up  to  her  con- 
sciousness that  it  was  the  abomination  of  a 
slave  to  embrace  where  she  did  not  love. 

"Father,"  she  said,  not  trying  to  argue 
any  longer,  but  just  to  make  him  see,  "Oh, 
don't  you  understand?  Man  and  wife  are  so 
close  together — like  that."  She  placed  her 
two  palms  together  before  her  in  the  attitude 
of  prayer. 

He  raised  his  hand  solemnly,  to  pronounce 
that  phrase  which  perhaps  more  than  any 
other  has  influenced  human  destinies,  "And 
they  shall  be  two  in  one  flesh." 

"But  to  live  so  close  with  a  man  you  don't 
love  or  care  for,  oh,  that  is  vile,  utterly,  ut- 
terly vile. ' ' 

He  could  not  entirely  sympathize  with  the 
intensity  of  her  point  of  view.  If  one 's  earth- 
ly love  did  not  turn  out  as  well  as  the  dreams 
of  it,  in  that  it  merely  resembled  other  phases 
^f  mortal  existence,  to  be  submitted  to.  He 

210 


The  Priest 

knew  many  married  couples  that  fell  out  at 
times,  but  if  they  tried  to  make  the  best  of 
things  as  they  were,  on  the  whole  they  got 
along  pretty  well.  He  was  inclined  to  depre- 
cate the  modern  tendency  to  invest  with  too 
much  dignity  the  varying  shades  of  erotic 
emotion.  It  was  one  of  the  things  which  led 
to  divorce — this  beatification  of  earthly,  flesh- 
ly love. 

Had  not  the  highest  and  holiest  lives  been 
led  in  the  entire  absence  of  it,  by  its  ruth- 
less extirpation?  Not  merely  saints,  martyrs 
and  great  popes,  but  ordinary  priests  like 
himself,  ordinary  nuns  like  the  hospital  sis- 
ters, had  yielded  up  that  side  of  life  freely 
and  been  the  better  for  it,  more  single-mind- 
ed in  the  service  of  the  Lord. 

He  did  not  believe  that  a  woman  who  had 
met  with  disappointment  in  this  regard 
should  make  of  it  such  a  monument  of  woe. 
Let  her  contemplate  her  position  with  a  little 
more  courage  and  resignation;  let  her  not 
exaggerate  the  importance  of  her  own  per- 
sonal feelings ;  let  her  yield  up  her  pride  and 
stubbornness  and  essay  to  do  her  duty  in 
that  relationship  which  she  had  chosen  for 
herself,  with  the  sanction  of  the  Church. 

211 


Rebellion 

Father  Hervey  had  sat  in  a  confessional 
box  for  nearly  fifty  years.  He  knew  a  very 
great  deal  about  marriage  from  without.  He 
had  seen  its  glories  and  its  shames  reflected 
in  the  hearts  of  thousands.  But  he  never  felt 
its  meanings  in  his  own  heart,  at  first  hand. 

Perhaps  if  its  priesthood  were  not  celibate, 
the  Eoman  Church  would  not  so  unyieldingly 
insist  upon  the  indis solubility  of  marriage. 
But  if  its  priesthood  were  not  celibate,  the 
Eoman  Church  would  almost  surely  lose 
much  of  its  grip  upon  the  imagination.  The 
mind  of  the  average  laymen,  Catholic  or  not, 
cannot  but  be  powerfully  moved  by  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  body  of  educated  men,  leaders  in 
their  communities,  voluntarily  renouncing  the 
most  appealing  of  human  relationships  for 
the  sake  of  a  supernatural  ideal. 

It  is  because  the  average  man  does  not  and 
cannot  live  without  women  which  causes  him 
to  regard  a  priest  with  a  species  of  awe. 
Eeason  as  you  will  about  it,  justify  the  mar- 
ried clergy  with  the  words  of  St.  Paul  and 
God's  promptings  within  us,  the  fact  remains 
that  the  Eoman  priest  alone  does  what  we 
can't  do,  lives  as  we  couldn't  live;  he  alone 
demonstrates  that  he  is  of  somewhat  different 

212 


The  Priest 

clay;  he  alone  mystifies  us;  and  mystery  is 
the  essence  of  sacerdotalism  and  authority. 

" Georgia, "  resumed  Ffther  Hervey,  "if 
all  your  pretty  dreams  have  not  come  true, 
remember  they  never  do  in  this  life.  You 
must  learn  to  compromise. ' ' 

"I  will  compromise,  Father — that  I  will  do, 
but  I  won't  surrender  utterly. "  She  drew 
herself  straighter  up  in  bed,  leaning  forward 
without  the  prop  of  the  pillow.  Her  excite- 
ment seemed  to  invigorate  her.  "There  is 
another  man " 

"Another  man?"  he  asked  sternly. 

"Yes,  but  I  will  give  him  up.  I  love  him, 
but  I  will  give  him  up.  On  the  other  side,  I 
will  never  take  Jim  back.  That  is  my  com- 
promise." 

"Is  that  not  something  like  saying  you 
would  not  commit  murder,  but  would  compro- 
mise on  stealing?" 

"Father,  that  is  the  best  I  can  do." 

"If  he  continued  in  his  former  evil  ways," 
and  there  was  an  unusual  tone  of  pleading 
rather  than  command  in  Father  Hervey 's 
voice,  "I  would  not  urge  you  to  return  to 
him.  It  is  recognized  that  there  are  cases 
where  living  apart  is  advisable.  But  here  is 

213 


Rebellion 

poor  Jim,  doing  his  best  and  needing  every 
helping  hand,  and  you  won't  extend  yours.  It 
is  not  fair,  Georgia,  and  it  is  not  kind — to 
him  or  to  yourself. ' ' 

' '  I  can 't  go  back  to  him,  Father.  It  is  im- 
possible.  I  hate  him  when  I  think  of  it.  I 
can't  live  with  him  again.  It  is  inconceiv- 
able. It  is  a  horror  to  imagine. ' '  She  avert- 
ed her  head  ^nd  put  her  hands  before  her  as 
if  pushing  away  the  image  of  her  husband. 

"In  the  top  drawer  of  the  bureau, "  she 
said,  "you  will  find  some  letters — one  for 
every  day  I  have  been  here.  They  are  from 
the  other  man.  You  may  take  them  if  you 
wish — and  I  will  give  you  my  promise  to  re- 
neive  no  more  from  him. ' ' 

The  priest  felt  as  if  he  were  touching  un- 
clean things  when  he  took  up  Stevens'  let- 
ters. There  were  more  than  twenty  01  them, 
and  most  of  them  were  very  thick. 

"You  have  read  them  all?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

Father  Hervey  wrapped  and  tied  the  let- 
ters in  a  newspaper  and  rang  for  an  attend- 
ant. 

"Kindly  put  this  package  in  the  furnace, " 


214 


The  Priest 

he  directed,  "just  as  it  is,  without  undo- 
ing it." 

"You  have  wandered  far,"  he  said  quietly, 
then  took  up  his  soft  black  hat  and  departed 
without  prayer  or  blessing. 

She  sank  back  among  her  pillows,  exhaust- 
ed from  the  conflict.  She  had  won,  she  told 
herself,  she  had  won,  but  it  was  without  joy. 

She  had  definitely  given  up  Mason,  as  she 
knew  she  must  from  the  beginning  of  her 
sickness,  from  the  day  that  she  entered  the 
hospital.  Perhaps  that  had  been  part  of  the 
price  of  her  getting  well. 

But  she  had  also  stuck  to  her  purpose  about 
Jim.  She  had  refused  to  violate  her  natural 
feelings  to  the  extent  of  entering  into  life's 
deepest  intimacies  with  the  one  person  in  all 
the  world  whom  she  most  disliked.  She  had 
put  her  will  against  the  priest,  the  holy  man, 
and  she  had  not  given  in.  She  knew  that 
not  many  women  could  have  done  that  so 
openly  and  so  successfully. 

He  had  left  her  without  prayer  or  bless- 
ing. She  was  not  at  peace  with  the  Church 
which  meant — her  eyes  fell  upon  the  sacred 
picture  on  the  wall  opposite — which  meant 
that  she  was  not  at  peace  with  The  Maa 

215 


Rebellion 

whose  mournful  sufferings  and  woe  had  been 
for  her. 

Fear  slowly  came  over  her. 


216 


XIX 

SACEED  HEAET 

The  picture  which  she  saw  on  the  wall 
opposite,  across  the  foot  of  the  bed,  was  of 
the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus. 

It  was  the  thing  which  she  had  seen  often- 
est  and  looked  at  longest  since  she  had  been 
in  the  hospital.  It  hung  directly  before  her 
eyes  as  she  lay  in  bed  with  her  head  on  the 
pillow.  She  saw  it  first  on  waking  and  last 
before  sleeping.  Sometimes  when  she  awoke 
suddenly  in  the  middle  of  the  night  she  could 
feel  the  picture  still  there,  watching  her  in 
the  darkness  with  mournful  eyes. 

When  first  she  looked  at  it  she  realized 
how  crude  it  was  in  execution.  Its  colors 
were  glaring.  The  Man  wore  a  shining  white 
cloak  which  he  drew  back  to  show  underneath 
a  blue  garment.  On  this,  placed  apparently 

217 


Rebellion 

on  the  outside  of  it,  was  a  Sacred  Heart  of 
red,  girt  in  thorns.  Holy  flames  proceeded 
from  it,  and  there  was  a  nimbus  of  encircling 
light. 

She  saw  that  it  would  have  been  better  if 
the  Sacred  Heart  had  seemed  to  glow  through 
His  garment,  instead  of  being  obviously 
superposed  upon  it;  that  softer  blue  and 
grayer  white  and  less  scarlet  red  would 
have  been  truer  tones  for  a  religious  picture. 
She  took  not  a  little  pride  in  her  critical 
perceptiveness. 

But  as  she  lay  watching  the  picture  day 
after  day,  she  appreciated  the  superficiality 
of  her  first  judgment  of  it.  She  had  been 
looking  at  colored  inks  and  the  marks  made 
by  copper  plates,  not  at  a  symbol  of  eternity. 

Does  one  estimate  a  put-by  baby's  slipper, 
or  a  lock  of  someone's  hair,  or  a  wedding 
ring  by  its  intrinsic  worth?  If  the  west  side 
print  shop  which  made  the  picture  before  her 
had  failed,  it  could  have  done  nothing  else 
with  that  subject  to  portray.  All  attempts 
to  represent  Christ  must  fail.  Rafael  had 
failed.  Everyone  would  fail. 

Even  the  Church  had  failed.    There  had 


218 


Sacred  Heart 

been  bad  popes,  had  there  not!  But  the 
Church  had  tried  to  represent  Him.  The 
Church  had  come  nearer  to  doing  so  than  any 
other  enginery  or  person.  The  saintliest  per- 
sons had  belonged  to  her  and  died  for  her 
and  in  her. 

One  Church,  she  knew,  He  had  founded, 
and  left  behind  Him.  One  and  but  one. 
* i  Thou  art  Peter  and  on  this  rock  I  will  build 
my  church. ' '  It  was  unequivocal.  Christ  did 
not  say  " churches, "  He  said  "church." 
There  was  but  one  which  He  had  built. 

And  she  had  defied  it;  she  had  hardened 
her  heart  against  it;  she  had  sent  away  its 
appointed  minister  in  order  to  exalt  herself. 

Her  eyes  were  drawn  again  to  the  Sacred 
Heart,  bound  in  the  thorns  which  she  and  hers 
had  placed  there.  So  it  had  been,  so  it  would 
be.  Christ  was  crucified  again  each  day,  in 
the  hearts  of  the  people  whom  He  loved.  Had 
she  not  herself  also  given  Him  vinegar  upon 
a  sponge? 

She  felt  the  tears  trickling  down  her  cheeks 
as  she  thought  of  her  own  supreme  selfish- 
ness, and  she  looked  through  blurred  eyes  at 
the  representation  of  the  most  supremely  un- 


219 


Rebellion 

selfish  face  that  mankind  has  been  able  to 
conceive. 

Then  suddenly  divine  forgiveness  seemed 
to  descend  upon  her  and  level  the  bounds  and 
limits  of  her  ego ;  the  barriers  of  her  nature 
gave  way  and  she  found  herself  at  one  with 
all  creation ;  she,  and  humanity,  and  nature, 
and  God  were  together.  Her  soul  seemed  to 
quicken  itself  within  her  and  ineffable  light 
shone  about  her. 

She  fell  on  her  knees  at  her  bedside,  her 
adoring  eyes  upon  the  pictured  countenance 
of  her  Savior.  Over  and  over  again  she  re- 
peated that  wonderful  word  learned  at  the 
convent,  which  expresses  all  prayer  in  itself. 
i  i  Peccavi, ' '  she  prayed,  '  '  peccavi,  peccavi. ' ' 

It  seemed  to  her  at  last,  when  she  arose 
from  her  knees  that  she  had  washed  all  her 
sins  away  with  the  passion  of  her  contrition ; 
that  she  had  been  born  again  in  the  spirit 
and  become  pure.  In  her  ecstasy  she  thought 
that  the  face  of  her  dear  Lord  regarded  her 
now  less  mournfully,  and  that  there  was  joy 
in  His  smile  where  there  had  been  only  sor- 
row. 

She  knew  for  the  first  time  in  her  self- 


220 


Sacred  Heart 

willed  life  the  peace  unspeakable  of  entire 
self-surrender.  Her  tears  continued,  but  they 
were  tears  of  joy,  and  she  sobbed  as  some- 
times prisoners  sob  when  pardoned  unex- 
pectedly. The  miracle  of  deliverance  rolled 
over  her  soul  like  a  flood,  washing  away  the 
barriers  of  self-control. 

During  her  weeks  in  the  hospital  she  had 
lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  perfect  faith,  as 
intense  and  vital,  almost,  as  that  of  the  mid- 
dle ages.  Those  who  had  carried  and  com- 
forted her  through  her  sickness,  nurses  and 
gentle  nuns,  could  not  doubt  that  Christ  had 
died  to  save  them  and  to  save  her. 

She  was  environed  with  Catholicism. 
Sometimes  she  could  see  through  her  partly 
opened  door  a  black-coated  priest  passing  in 
the  hall  to  shrive  a  dying  sinner.  The  chimes 
and  chants  from  the  chapel  came  faintly  to 
her  ears  with  benediction.  The  picture  of 
the  Sacred  Heart  hung  before  her  eyes  in  un- 
ceasing reminder  of  'the  whole  marvelous 
fabric  of  the  Church. 

Because  of  her  lowered  vitality  and  her 
days  of  idleness  in  bed,  her  receptivity  to  ex- 
terior impressions  was  greatly  increased. 
The  steady  stream  of  suggestions  of  her 

221 


Rebellion 

ancient  religion  which  had  flowed  in  upon 
her  welled  higher  and  higher  in  her  subcon- 
sciousness  until  they  crossed  the  line  of  con- 
sciousness and  took  sudden  and  complete  pos- 
session of  her  mind. 


222 


XX 

SUEEENDEE 

The  next  morning  Georgia  sent  for  Jim. 
Before  he  came  she  wrote  to  Stevens : 

Dear  Mason — /  am  going  to  take  my  hus- 
band back.  I  have  been  here  now  for  nearly 
a  month,  and  I  have  had  plenty  of  time  to 
think  things  over,  you  may  be  sure.  What  I 
am  going  to  do  is  best  for  both  of  us — for 
all  three  of  us.  There  is  no  doubt  of  that  in 
my  mind.  I  know  it. 

Please  don't  answer  or  try  to  see  me.  That 
would  simply  make  things  harder  for  us,  but 
not  change  my  plans. 

It  is  my  religion  that  has  done  it,  Mason. 
Do  you  remember  that  I  once  told  you,  when 
it  came  to  the  big  things  I  didn't  believe  I 
would  dare  disobey?  I  was  right  in  this 
respect  that  I  can't  bring  myself  to  disobey, 
but  it  is  not  so  much  from  fear  as  I  thought 
it  would  be.  It  is  a  sense  of  "ought."  That 
is  the  only  way  I  can  put  it.  I  have  a  feel- 

223 


Rebellion 

ing,  tremendously  strong,  but  hard  to  define 
in  words,  that  I  ought  not,  that  I  must  not 
go  on  with  what  we  planned. 

This  feeling  is  stronger  than  I  am,  Mason. 
That  is  all  I  can  say  about  it. 

So  good-bye.  May  God  bless  you  and  make 
you  prosperous  and  happy  in  this  life  and  the 
next  one.  This  is  my  prayer,  my  dear. 

Georgia. 

The  nurse  took  the  letter  to  the  mail  box 
in  the  office  and  when  she  returned,  looked 
at  her  patient  curiously,  saying,  "Your  hus- 
band is  waiting  downstairs  to  see  you." 

"Do  you  mind  asking  him  to  come  up, 
nurse?" 

Jim,  who  had  now  been  in  the  city  for  a 
month,  had  lost  some  of  his  open-air  tan 
and  regained  a  portion  of  his  'banished 
poundage,  but  still  he  looked  far  better  than 
Georgia  had  seen  him  for  years.  He  made 
a  favorable  impression  upon  her  from  the 
instant  he  crossed  the  threshold.  He  was  the 
Jim  of  the  earlier  rather  than  of  the  later 
years  of  their  married  life.  His  aspect 
seemed  to  confirm  the  truth  of  the  revelation 
which  she  had  received  concerning  him. 

224 


Surrender 

"How  do  you  do,"  she  asked  formally. 

*  *  Very  well,  thank  you, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  How 
do  you  do ? ' ' 

"Much  better — won't  you  be  seated?" 

Jim,  first  carefully  placing  his  brown  derby 
hat  under  the  chair,  sat  where  the  priest  had 
been  the  day  before. 

She  felt  a  certain  numbness  of  emotion  as 
she  looked  at  him,  but  none  of  that  loathing 
and  disgust  without  which,  as  she  had  come 
to  believe,  he  could  not  be  in  her  presence. 
Doubtless,  she  reflected,  she  had  exaggerated 
her  dislike  for  Jim,  to  justify  herself  for 
Stevens. 

"Georgia,"  said  Jim  slowly,  "I  didn't  act 
right  before.  I  know  it  and  I'm  sorry  and 
ashamed.  It  was  drink  that  put  the  devil 
in  me,  same  as  it  will  for  any  man  that  goes 

against  it  hard  enough Some  people 

can  drink  in  moderation — it  doesn't  seem  to 
hurt  them.  But  I  can't.  When  I  got  started 
I  tried  to  drink  up  all  the  whiskey  in  North 
Clark  Street.  Well,  it  can't  be  done.  I'm 
onto  that  now.  No  more  moderate  drinking 
for  me.  From  now  on  I'm  going  to  chop  it 
out  altogether." 

He  paused  for  a  word  of  encouragement, 

225 


Rebellion 

but  she  remained  silent.  A  little  nodule  of 
memory,  which  had  been  lying  dormant  in 
her  brain,  awoke  at  his  words,  "from  now 
on  I'm  going  to  chop  it  out  altogether."  How 
many  times  she  had  heard  him  say  that  be- 
fore— and  every  time  he  had  thumped  his 
right  fist  into  his  left  palm,  just  as  he  was 
doing  now. 

"All  I  ask  from  you  is  another  chance/' 
he  continued.  "You  know  about  the  prodigal 
son.  That's  me.  I've  come  back  repentant. 
I  know  I've  brought  you  misery  in  my  time 
— and  plenty  of  it.  So  if  you  stick  on  your 
rights  and  never  forgive  me,  you  don't  have 
to.  What  do  you  say,  Georgia  1 ' ' 

Again  he  paused,  but  she  did  not  speak, 
sitting  with  her  head  bent,  picking  with  her 
fingers  at  the  coverlet. 

"It  wasn't  me  that  did  you  the  harm," 
he  pleaded,  "it  was  the  whiskey  in  me,  and 
if  I  keep  away  from  that  why  the  rest  of  me 
isn't  so  bad.  You  used  to  think  that  yourself 
once,  Georgia." 

She  waited  for  him  to  continue,  fearing 
what  he  would  say  next,  and  he  said  it.  "But 
if  you're  through  with  me,  I  guess  the  only 
friend  I've  got  left  after  all  is  whiskey.  He 

226 


Surrender 

put  me  to  the  bad  all  right,  but  he  won't  go 
back  on  me  now  I'm  there.  Whatever  else 
you  can  say  about  him,  he's  faithful.  He's 
always  got  a  smile  for  you  when  you're  blue, 
and  he'll  stick  to  you  clear  through  to  the 
finish." 

Yes,  that  was  Jim  of  old,  word  for  word 
and  motive  for  motive,  who  thought  the 
proper  remedy  for  disappointment  was 
drunkenness. 

"Oh,  Jim,"  she  cried,  "why  did  you  say 
that?" 

He  misunderstood  her  completely.  He  felt 
that  he  was  making  a  most  effective  threat. 
"I  said  it  because  it's  true,"  he  answered 
roughly,  "that's  why.  You've  showed  me 
where  I  stand — you've  given  me  my  answer 
just  as  loud  as  if  you'd  been  shouting  it. 
Good-bye.  Likely  I'll  be  laying  up  in  a  barrel 
house  on  the  river  front  pretty  soon,  and 
pretty  soon  after  that  they'll  be  taking  me 
out  to  Dunning  and  planting  me  in  the  ground 
with  just  a  little  stick  and  a  number  on  it, 
or  else — "  a  catch  came  into  his  voice  as 
the  pathetic  picture  swam  vividly  before  his 
eyes,  for  like  most  drunkards  he  possessed 
something  of  the  artistic  temperament,  "or 

227 


Rebellion 

else  maybe  they'll  cut  me  up  to  show  the 
young  internes  and  the  trained  nurses  which 
side  the  heart's  on." 

Yes,  he  was  doing  the  baby  act  again,  mak- 
ing excuses  and  threatening  suicide.  He 
might  have  deceived  Al  and  Father  Hervey 
for  a  month  or  more  with  his  ' '  reform, ' '  but 
he  couldn't  deceive  her  for  ten  consecutive 
minutes.  She  had  seen  into  the  core  of  his 
nature,  that  it  was  weak  and  unstable  as 
ever.  Sooner  or  later  he  would  relapse. 
What  had  been  would  be  again. 

He  arose  as  if  to  leave,  then  hesitated  to 
give  her  one  last  chance  to  relent. 

' '  S  'long, ' '  he  said,  slowly  opening  the  door. 

"You  can  come  home,  Jim — if  you  want." 

"If  I  want!"  He  went  to  her  quickly  and 
took  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  his  lips  to 
her  cold  ones  until  she  shuddered  in  his  em- 
brace. 

When  at  last  he  left  her  she  looked  to  the 
picture  of  the  Sacred  Heart  as  if  for  ap- 
proval, and  whispered,  "Not  my  will,  but 
Thine,  be  done." 


228 


XXI 

WORSHIP 

A  few  days  later  Georgia  was  discharged 
from  the  hospital  with  the  warning  that  she 
was  convalescent,  but  not  cured.  She  might 
by  indiscretion  in  the  ensuing  weeks  make 
herself  a  semi-invalid  for  the  rest  of  her  life ; 
she  might  even  bring  about  an  acute  relapse, 
in  which  case  she  would  be  likely  to  die. 

She  telephoned  the  old  man  that  she  was 
ready  to  report  the  following  Monday,  but 
he  ordered  her  to  stay  away  for  at  least  an- 
other week,  saying  that  her  place  was  abso- 
lutely safe  and  her  salary  running  on.  She 
thanked  him  so  earnestly  for  his  kindness 
that  he  was  minded  to  break  into  her  secret, 
congratulate  her  on  her  engagement,  tell  her 
it  was  Stevens  who  had  been  kind  and  gen- 
erous, but  according  to  his  promise  he  re- 
frained. He  supposed  she  would  quickly  dis- 
cover the  facts  after  their  marriage  anyway. 

Jim  was  rodman  with  the  surveying  de- 

229 


Rebellion 

partment  of  an  important  landscape  garden- 
ing firm.  Sometimes  his  employment  kept 
him  out  in  the  country  for  two  or  three  days 
at  a  time,  but  he  turned  in  ten  or  twelve  dol- 
lars every  Saturday  night  and  the  family 
was  more  comfortable  than  it  had  ever  been. 

Georgia  had  in  fairness  to  acknowledge 
that  Jim  had  shown  unexpectedly  decent 
feeling.  During  her  fortnight  of  convales- 
cence he  had  assumed  no  right  of  proprietor- 
ship, made  no  demands.  He  slept  on  a 
lounge  in  the  front  room  and  never  went  to 
her  room  without  first  knocking.  She  wished 
that  things  might  go  on  so  indefinitely,  but 
she  knew  that  it  was  now  a  question  of  days, 
perhaps  of  hours,  before  she  must  reassume 
all  the  obligations  of  wifehood.  She  was  get- 
ting well  so  rapidly  and  so  evidently  that 
soon  she  would  have  no  excuse  for  not  meet- 
ing them. 

She  was  grateful  to  Jim  for  his  courtesy; 
and  they  spoke  to  each  other  more  kindly 
than  ever  before.  They  had  ceased  to  act 
upon  the  theory  that  it  did  not  much  matter 
what  one  said  to  the  other  since  the  other 
had  to  stand  it  anyway.  She  had  already 


230 


Worship 

taken  over  a,  year  out  of  their  lives  together 
to  show  that  she  did  not  have  to  stand  it. 

Their  example  was  not  without  its  in- 
fluence upon  the  other  members  of  the  fam- 
ily, Al  and  Mrs.  Talbot,  and  there  was  far 
less  wrangling  and  friction  in  the  household. 

Not  without  hesitating  dread  Georgia 
brought  herself  to  the  grilled  shutter  of 
Father  Hervey's  Gothic  confessional  box. 
She  had  been  derelict  in  this  as  in  other  obli- 
gations; except  for  her  brief  and  half  de- 
lirious words  of  general  contrition  in  the  hos- 
pital, it  was  her  first  confession  for  three 
years. 

Sinking  to  her  knees  she  whispered,  "  Bless 
me,  Father,  for  I  have  sinned. ' ' 

She  began  the  prayer  of  the  penitent.  "I 
confess  to  Almighty  God,  to  blessed  Mary, 
ever  Virgin,  to  blessed  Michael,  the  archan- 
gel, to  blessed  John  the  Baptist,  to  the  holy 
apostles  Peter  and  Paul,  and  to  all  the  saints, 
that  I  have  sinned  exceedingly  in  thought, 
word  and  deed,  through  my  fault,  through  my 
fault,  through  my  most  grievous  fault. " 

As  she  told  her  secret  sins  and  pettiness 
to  the  priest,  it  seemed  that  the  poison  of 
them  was  being  drained  from  her  memory 

231 


Rebellion 

where  they  had  become  encysted.  Her  heart 
was  cleaned  and  purified  and  lightened  by  the 
process  of  the  confessional. 

It  is  indeed  doubtful  whether  any  other 
ecclesiastical  instrument  since  the  world  be- 
gan has  lifted  so  much  sorrow  from  mankind. 

Georgia's  conspicuous  and  mortal  sins 
were  two — Doubt  and  her  continued  enter- 
tainment of  that  feeling  for  Mason  Stevens 
which,  since  it  was  unlawful,  the  Church  de- 
nominated Lust. 

Doubt  had  followed  naturally  on  absorption 
in  worldly  affairs,  dangerous  associations  and 
reading,  and  neglect  of  her  obligations  to  the 
Church.  Especially  reprehensible  had  been 
her  frequent  attendance  at  the  Sunday  Eve- 
ning Ethical  Club,  where  the  very  air  was 
impregnated  with  dilute  agnosticism. 

In  future  she  must  be  more  careful  in  her 
choice  of  reading.  Materialism  and  atheism 
were  skillfully  concealed  in  many  a  so-called 
sociological  treatise.  Not  that  sociology  lacked 
certain  elements  of  truth,  but  the  danger  for 
untrained  minds  lay  in  exaggerating  their 
importance  until  they  overshadowed  greater 
truths.  She  would  do  well  hereafter  to  leave 
sociology  to  sociologists. 

232 


Worship 

The  Sunday  Evening  Ethical  Club  was 
anathema.  She  must  not  go  there  again  nor 
to  any  similar  place  where  veiled  socialism 
and  anarchy  were  preached. 

The  confessor  was  rejoiced  that  her  duty 
toward  her  husband  and  toward  herself,  for 
the  two  duties  were  one,  had  been  so  unmis- 
takably revealed  to  her.  Did  the  image  of  the 
other  man  ever  trouble  her  mind  ? 

Yes,  Georgia  acknowledged  it  did. 

That  was  to  be  expected,  in  the  beginning. 
But  it  would  cease  to  trouble  her  before  long. 
Did  this  image  occur  to  her  often? 

Yes,  she  said,  it  did — very  often,  almost 
continually.  It  was  not  always  actively  be- 
fore her,  she  explained,  but  it  seemed  never 
far  away,  as  if  it  were  just  beneath  the  sur- 
face of  her  ordinary  thoughts. 

In  that  case  it  would  be  impossible  to  ab- 
solve her  and  she  would  remain  in  a  state  of 
mortal  sin  unless  she  would  promise  solemnly 
to  refrain  from  all  further  thoughts  of  that 
man,  and  if  ever  they  arose  unbidden  to 
banish  them  immediately,  as  an  evil  spirit  is 
cast  out  from  one  possessed. 

The  priest  waited,  but  the  woman  remained 
silent. 

233 


Rebellion 

Did  she  remember,  lie  asked  severely,  the 
words  of  our  Savior,  that  "he  who  looketh  in 
lust,  committeth  adultery. "  If  she  kept  this 
idol  in  her  heart,  no  priest  had  power  to  for- 
give her  sins  in  His  name.  Her  choice  was 
before  her,  her  Lord  or  her  flesh. 

Her  head  was  bowed,  her  hands  clasped 
before  her,  and  she  felt  tears  trickle  slowly 
upon  her  knuckles. 

"Oh,  I  promise,  Father, "  she  whispered, 
"to  try  never  to  think  of  him  any  more, 
and  to  put  him  out  of  my  mind — when — the 
thought  comes — unbidden. ' ' 

The  sincerity  of  her  intention  was  evident 
in  the  tones  of  her  voice  and  she  was  offered 
her  penance;  to  be  hereafter  scrupulous  in 
her  religious  observances;  to  hear  one  mass 
a  week  besides  the  Sunday  mass  for  two 
months ;  to  say  her  prayers  night  and  morn- 
ing always  reverently  on  her  knees,  not  stand- 
ing or  in  bed;  with  the  addition  of  five  Our 
Fathers  and  Hail  Marys  night  and  morning 
until  her  penance  was  completed ;  to  endeavor 
to  influence  her  family  to  go  with  her  to  Sun- 
day mass  each  week ;  and  to  examine  her  con- 
science daily. 

The  wise  and  gentle  old  priest  had  not  been 

234 


Worship 

harsh  with  her,  and  she  accepted  humbly  and 
gratefully  the  penance  he  imposed. 

He  prayed  to  God  to  regard  her  mercifully 
and  to  lead  her  to  eternal  life,  then  raising 
his  right  hand  he  recited  over  her  the  conse- 
crated syllables  of  the  sacrament,  ending  with 
the  solemn  words  of  peace,  Ego  te  absolvo  a 
peccatis  in  nomine  Patris,  here  he  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  et  Filii  et  Spiritus  Sancti. 
Amen.  (I  absolve  thee  from  thy  sins  in  the 
name  of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  Amen.) 

Georgia  left  the  confessional  and  went  to 
the  other  part  of  the  church  to  pray  for  a 
clean  and  strengthened  spirit. 

The  Sunday  following  she  went  with  Jim, 
Al  and  Mrs.  Talbot  to  the  cathedral  where 
pontifical  mass  was  celebrated.  Encrusted 
with  the  accumulated  observances  of  cen- 
turies of  faith,  it  is,  perhaps,  the  most  intri- 
cate, aesthetic  and  impressive  religious  rite 
ever  practiced  by  mankind. 

Prom  the  archbishop  seated  on  his  throne, 
wearing  his  two-horned  mitre  in  sign  of  the 
two  testaments,  his  emerald  ring  as  spouse  of 
the  Church,  his  silken  tunic  and  dalmatic,  his 
gloves  of  purity;  with  his  shepherd 's  crosier 

235 


Rebellion 

in  bis  hand,  his  woolen  pallium  over  his  shoul- 
ders, bound  with  three  golden  pins  in  memory 
of  the  three  nails  which  fastened  Him ;  from 
the  archbishop  crowned  with  gold  to  the  least 
acolyte  in  surplice  of  white  to  recall  His  life, 
and  cassock  of  black  to  recall  His  sorrow,  the 
hierarchical  symbolism  is  complex,  mysteri- 
ous, complete,  beautiful. 

When  Georgia,  genuflecting  and  signing 
herself  with  holy  water,  passed  through  the 
cathedral's  double  doors  which  prefigure  the 
two  sides  of  His  being,  she  felt  as  if  she  were 
coming  home  again  after  a  long,  unhappy 
journey.  The  clustered  shafts  of  the  columns 
carried  her  eyes  up  to  the  high,  darkened 
groins  of  the  roof.  The  south  sun  streamed 
in  colors  through  the  saints  of  the  windows. 
In  the  east,  on  the  altar,  the  tall  slender 
candles  burned  purely. 

The  incense  puffed  from  the  swinging  cen- 
ser, like  smoke,  familiar  and  pleasing  to  her. 
When  the  priest  nine  times  uttered  Kyrie 
eleison,  the  prayer  of  fallen  humanity,  she 
felt  as  if  a  friend  were  interceding  for  her 
before  a  great  judge. 

It  made  her  proud  to  see  the  slow  evolu- 
tions of  the  choir,  regular  and  disciplined,  to 

236 


Worship 

hear  as  if  far  away  their  solemn  chants  in 
stately  Latin,  to  feel  that  she  belonged  to 
the  same  fabric  of  which  they  were  a  part. 

As  the  service  proceeded,  the  priests  pass- 
ing back  and  forth  before  the  altar  making 
obeisance  and  kissing  its  holy  stone  in  ancient 
and  regular  form,  the  world  outside  receded 
continuously  further  from  the  people  in  the 
church,  and  they  became  increasingly  merged 
into  one  single,  splendid  act  of  worship. 

Holding  the  jewelled  paten  with  its  bread, 
above  the  jewelled  chalice  with  its  wine,  the 
archbishop  made  three  signs  of  the  cross  to 
commemorate  the  living  hours  of  the  cruci- 
fixion; then  moving  the  paten  he  made  two 
signs  to  signify  the  separation  of  His  soul 
and  body.  The  altar  bell  tinkled,  a  symbol 
of  the  convulsion  of  nature  in  that  supreme 
hour.  A  great  sigh  went  through  the  Church. 

Upon  the  altar  before  them  was  Christ 
Himself.  What  had  been  bread  was  now  be- 
come His  real  body ;  what  had  been  wine  was 
now  become  His  actual  blood.  .<  »  >  It  is 
the  great  miracle  of  Christian  practice. 
Whether  it  actually  takes  place,  whether  it 
is  a  true  miracle  or  a  false  one,  is  a  question 
which  with  its  implications  has  slain,  im- 

237 


Rebellion 

poverished  and  dishonored  many  millions  of 
human  beings,  half  of  whom  perhaps  believed 
that  the  miracle  happened  and  half  of  whom 
believed  that  it  did  not. 

Georgia  and  Jim,  having  fasted  from  the 
night  before,  received  communion. 

Mrs.  Talbot  from  her  pew  in  the  middle  of 
the  church,  as  she  watched  them  kneeling  to- 
gether at  the  altar  rail,  was  happier  than  she 
had  been  for  many  years. 


23S 


XXII 

KANSAS  CITY 

Kansas  City  is  growing  vain  and  beautiful. 
She  has,  within  recent  years,  spent  ten  mil- 
lion dollars  on  her  looks — not  to  increase  her 
terminal  facilities  or  make  her  transit  rapider 
—but  simply  and  solely  on  her  looks,  to  clear 
up  her  complexion  and  improve  her  figure. 

Beauty  pays  dividends  to  towns,  as  to 
women  and  gardeners.  Since  Kansas  City 
put  in  its  park  and  boulevard  system  for  ten 
million,  adjoining  real  estate  has  advanced 
twelve,  or  according  to  the  inhabitants,  fif- 
teen million. 

Mason  Stevens  decided  he  would  like  to  get 
transferred  to  Kansas  City,  with  a  raise  of 
salary.  Then  he  could  pick  out  a  small  house 
in  the  trees  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  new 
macadam  roads,  and  eventually  go  back  and 
forth  in  a  Panno  Six  just  as  he  had  planned. 
He  put  in  a  good  many  odd  hours  with  the 
maps  and  prospectuses  of  proposed,  sug- 
gested or  hoped  for  subdivisions. 

239 


Rebellion 

If  he  could  arrange  with  Mr.  Silverman  to 
shift  him,  he  would  send  for  Georgia  and 
they  would  scout  for  a  lot  near  a  boulevard 
end.  The  land  out  there  was  bound  to  appre- 
ciate in  value  as  the  town  built  up  and  the 
parkways  were  still  further  extended.  He 
would  like  to  buy  one  lot  for  himself  and  an- 
other for  investment.  He  would  have  to  buy 
on  time,  but  that's  an  incentive  to  a  young 
business  man. 

He  felt  confident  of  Georgia's  enchantment 
with  the  project.  The  view  from  the  bluffs 
was  finer  than  anything  one  could  get  in  Chi- 
cago for  the  same  money.  Besides  the  proc- 
ess of  social  stratification  was  not  so  far 
along.  Kansas  City  was  to  Chicago  as  Chi- 
cago to  New  York,  and  New  York  to  Lon- 
don. Comers-up,  like  himself  and  Georgia, 
would  be  more  important  more  quickly  in  the 
smaller  city. 

Mason  soon  found  out  that  there  was  not 
much  to  be  said  against  Mr.  Plaisted,  the  lo- 
cal agent  in  chief,  except  that  he  was  getting 
old.  In  routine  matters  and  methods  he  was 
excellent,  but  had  ceased  to  be  creative.  In 
the  terminology  of  a  great  art,  he  had  lost 
his  wallop. 

240 


Kansas  City 

It  was  the  time  when  the  big  life  companies 
were  beginning  their  drive  to  get  business  in 
block;  to  insure  for  one  large  premium  paid 
in  a  lump  sum,  the  entire  working  force  of  a 
bank  or  business  house.  When  the  employe 
was  honorably  retired,  say  at  sixty  or  sixty- 
five,  after  a  stipulated  number  of  years  of 
steady  work,  he  would  be  pensioned  until  he 
died,  which  pension  might  in  whole  or  in  part 
be  continued  to  his  wife  if  she  survived  him. 
Or  he  might  receive,  upon  superannuation,  an 
endowment  equaling  three  years'  salary.  If 
he  died  before  retirement  his  relict  might  be- 
come the  beneficiary  of  an  ordinary  life 
policy.  There  were  still  other  plans  and  com- 
binations and  permutations  thereof,  whose 
details  were  more  or  less  veiled  in  a  haze  of 
actuarial  figures,  but  whose  broad  effects 
were  alike  calculated  to  incite  fidelity  in  the 
employe  by  holding  out  to  him  the  prospect 
of  a  comfortable  decline  if  he  stuck  to  his  em- 
ployer through  youth  and  middle  age. 

Mason  quickly  reported  to  Mr.  Silverman 
that  within  six  months  the  New  England  Life 
had  written  two  such  block  policies  for  cor- 
porations and  that  three  other  rival  com- 


241 


Rebellion 

panies  had  secured  one  each,  while  the  East- 
ern had  obtained  none. 

Silverman  telegraphed  sharply  to  Plaisted, 
"Why  don't  you  get  any  corporation  busi- 
ness in  bulk?  Our  competitors  do." 

Mr.  Plaisted  responded  with  a  laborious 
letter  of  explanation. 

Then  it  developed  that  the  New  England 
Life  had  things  already  in  shape  for  a  third 
big  deal — the  Phosphate  National  Bank. 
Mason  got  the  first  wind  of  it,  not  in  Kansas 
City,  but  by  a  direct  tip  from  Mr.  Silverrnan 
in  New  York,  with  instructions  to  investigate 
promptly.  Within  six  hours  he  was  able  to 
report  back  that  the  proposed  premium  would 
exceed  five  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  fur- 
thermore that  the  Phosphate  Trust  &  Sav- 
ings, being  controlled  by  the  same  parties  as 
the  Phosphate  National,  was  preparing  to  fol- 
low its  lead.  That  would  make  four  banks 
for  the  New  England  in  half  a  year  and 
greatly  increase  its  already  disturbing 
prestige. 

Silverman  answered,  i  i  Immediately  use  all 
proper  methods  secure  Phosphate  business 
for  us.  We  must  maintain  prestige.  Au- 


242 


Kansas  City 

thorize  you  act  independently  Plaisted  your 
discretion.  Draw  on  me  in  reason. " 

Mason  drew  on  him  for  one  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  obtained  two  five  hundred  dollar 
bills,  one  of  which,  after  duly  cautious  pre- 
liminaries, he  handed  to  the  cashier,  the  other 
to  the  auditor  of  the  Phosphate  National. 
Again,  after  duly  cautious  preliminaries,  they 
accepted.  These  two  gentlemen  had  been  de- 
tailed a  committee  to  draw  up  for  the  con- 
venience of  the  bank's  Board  of  Directors  an 
analytical  syllabus  of  the  differing  proposi- 
tions offered  by  the  competing  insurance  com- 
panies. The  Eastern  Life  got  the  Phosphate 
National's  business,  followed  by  that  of  its 
subsidiary,  the  Trust  &  Savings  Bank,  and 
Mason  got  Mr.  Silverman 's  congratulations. 

Two  days  later  Silverman  walked  unex- 
pectedly into  Plaisted 's  office.  Plaisted,  who 
had  just  that  instant  signed  his  name  to  a  let- 
ter addressed  to  his  visitor  in  New  York,  was 
rattled. 

"Mr.  Plaisted, "  said  Mr.  Silverman,  biting 
off  the  end  of  a  three-for-a-dollar,  "I  have 
found  out  what  is  the  trouble,  that  is,  the 
main  trouble  with  your  agency  here." 

Plaisted  winced.    He  hadn't  realized  that 

243 


Rebellion 

there  was  any  trouble,  and  certainly  not  any 
main  trouble  with  his  agency.  '  l  Yes,  Mr.  Sil - 
verman." 

1  '  You  're  undermanned. ' ' 

"Why,  yes — perhaps.  IVe  thought  of 
breaking  in  a  few  new  agents  this  winter. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Silverman,  "I  mean  you're  un- 
dermanned at  the  top.  Weak  on  the  executive 
side." 

"Oh,"  said  Plaisted. 

"You  need  new  blood,  new  ideas,  new  life, 
hustle,"  he  snapped  his  fingers  with  each 
successive  word — i  t  speed  —  force — energy — 
vigor  —  enterprise  —  vitality — dynamics  — 
do  you  get  me?" 

"I — yes — I'm  sure  I  do,"  answered 
Plaisted,  in  considerable  apprehension. 

"I  suggest  therefore  that  you  appoint 
young  Stevens — you  have  met  him  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  answered  Plaisted,  who  detested 
the  ground  Mason  walked  on,  "I  have  met 
him." 

"I  suggest  you  appoint  him  as  your  first 
assistant,"  remarked  Mr.  Silverman,  calmly 
eyeing  Plaisted.  "He  will  take  the  burden  of 
details  off  your  shoulders." 

"I — ah — don't    know,    Mr.    Silverman,   if 

244 


Kansas  City 


that  would  be  entirely  wise.  You  see  our 
methods — his  and  mine — " 

"I  have  made  my  suggestion,  Mr. 
Plaisted,"  answered  Silverman  slowly.  "In 
my  judgment  that  would  be  the  best  thing 
to  do." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  until  at 
last  Plaisted  dropped  his  eyes  murmuring, 
" I  will  think  it  over." 

"I  leave  at  two.  I  should  like  to  know 
your  decision  before  then. ' ' 

Plaisted  yielded  by  telephone  within  halt* 
an  hour. 

He  wasn't  deprived  of  the  corner  room;  he 
would  continue  to  sign  General  Agent  after 
his  name.  But  he  realized  bitterly  that  he 
had  left  to  him  only  the  shadow  of  his  long 
authority.  The  substance  had  passed  to  the 
young  stranger. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  following  year 
Plaisted  was  granted  a  six  months'  leave  of 
absence  with  pay,  and  soon  after  his  return 
resigned.  He  now  travels  peevishly  from 
Palm  Beach  to  Paris  and  back  again  in  com- 
pany with  a  valet-nurse. 

Georgia's  letter  of  farewell  came  in  the 
afternoon  mail,  just  after  Mr.  Silverman  's 

245 


Rebellion 

departure.  Mason  read  it  over  every  night 
for  a  month  and  found  it  bad  medicine  for 
sleep.  The  lines  in  his  shrewd  face  deepened 
perceptibly.  Finally  he  locked  the  letter  up 
in  his  safe  deposit  vault,  and  seemed  to  rest 
better  afterwards. 

He  dickered  with  the  hotel  for  room  and 
bath  by  the  year  and  got  thirty-three  per  cent 
off.  He  was  known  by  his  office  force  as  a 
hard  man  to  please. 


246 


YTTTT 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  OLD  MAN 

Georgia  pressed  the  knob  of  the  time  clock 
at  fifteen  minutes  to  nine  the  next  morning. 
When  she  opened  her  locker  to  hang  up  her 
hat  and  jacket  she  discovered  a  novel  which 
she  had  drawn  from  a  circulating  library  six 
weeks  before  and  which  had  been  costing  her 
two  cents  a  day  ever  since,  a  box  of  linen  col- 
lars, an  umbrella  she  thought  she  had  lost, 
and  a  shirt  waist  done  up  in  paper. 

She  went  from  the  locker  hall  into  the  room 
of  the  office,  half  expecting  to  find  it  changed 
in  some  way,  but  everything  was  the  same. 
The  same  clerks  were  stoop-shouldered  over 
the  same  desks,  the  same  young  auditor  was 
lolling  back  in  his  swivel  chair,  pulling  his 
stubby  mustache,  his  elbow  on  the  low  ma- 
hogany railing  that  marked  him  off  from  his 
assistants.  That  was  how  he  always  began 
the  day.  At  nine  precisely  he  would  ring  for 
a  stenographer  and  dictate  from  notes.  He 

247 


Rebellion 

never  dictated  straight  from  his  head,  prob- 
ably because  his  work  was  so  full  of  figures. 

Georgia  was  taken  back  by  the  casual  way 
in  which  she  was  greeted.  Several  arose  and 
shook  hands  and  were  briefly  glad  to  see  her 
again ;  others  simply  nodded  a  good  morning. 
An  oldish  bookkeeper  asked,  "Been  away, 
haven't  you? " 

The  girls  of  the  lunch  club,  however,  wel- 
comed her  warmly  as  they  came  in  one  after 
the  other  and  found  her  seated  at  her  old 
desk,  just  outside  the  old  man's  door.  But 
even  they,  she  felt  with  a  twinge  of  bitter- 
ness, failed  to  grasp  the  stupendousness  of 
her  experience. 

Since  last  she  had  been  in  the  office  she 
had  knocked  at  the  gate  of  death  and  lost  her 
lover  and  found  her  faith,  yet  the  people  of 
the  office  seemingly  perceived  no  change  in 
her  except  that  she  was  pale. 

All  that  they  knew  of  her  was  the  surface 
and  that,  she  reflected,  was  all  she  knew  of 
them.  Perhaps  during  her  absence  the  oldest 
bookkeeper  had  received  notice  to  quit  at  the 
end  of  the  year  and  dreaded  to  tell  his  invalid 
wife ;  perhaps  he  had  had  a  daughter  die,  not 
recover,  from  typhoid ;  or  his  son  had  gone  to 

248 


The  Last  of  the  Old  Man 

prison  or  received  a  hero  medal  or  become  a 
licensed  aviator. 

The  young  auditor  might  be  frowning  and 
pulling  his  mustache  because  he  had  recently 
acquired  a  chorus  lady  for  a  stepmother. 
The  tall,  red-puffed  girl  with  the  open-work 
waist  and  abrupt  curves  might,  as  had  been 
suspected,  be  no  better  than  she  should  be. 
It  wouldn't  surprise  Georgia  greatly  if  that 
was  so. 

But,  she  reflected,  what  of  it!  None  of 
them  mattered  to  her,  just  as  she  mattered  to 
none  of  them. 

For  everyone  she  supposed  it  was  much  the 
same;  four  or  five  people  one  knew  and  the 
rest  strangers. 

She  slipped  some  paper  into  the  machine 
to  try  her  fingers.  She  wrote  hadn't, 
"hand't"  and  stenographer,  "stoneg- 
rapher."  She  was  not  pleased  to  find  who- 
ever had  been  subbing  for  her  had  put  ^  black 
ribbon  on  her  machine.  She  liked  purple 
better. 

Mechanically  she  pulled  at  the  upper  left- 
hand  drawer  where  she  had  kept  her  note 
books  and  pencils,  but  it  was  locked.  And  she 


249 


Rebellion 

didn't  have  the  key.  She  had  sent  it  by 
Al  from  the  hospital. 

Miss  Gerson  walked  briskly  to  the  desk. 
"Oh,"  she  said,  "Miss  Connor,  you're  back." 

"Yes.  How  do  you  dof"  They  shook 
hands. 

"That's  fine — you  do  look  a  little  pale — we 
were  all  so  sorry  to  hear  of  your  illness.  I  Ve 
been  your  understudy,"  she  gave  a  little 
sigh,  "using  your  desk.  I'm  afraid  its  clut- 
tered up  with  my  things.  If  I'd  only  known 
you  were  returning  to-day  I'd  have  left  it 
spick  and  span  for  you."  She  took  out  the 
key  and  unlocked  the  master  drawer,  which 
released  the  others,  and  removed  her  note- 
book, pencils,  erasers,  some  picture  postal 
cards,  a  broken-crystalled  lady's  watch,  an 
apple  and  a  book  on  etiquette. 

"I  think  the  old  man's  just  fine  to  work  for, 
don't  you!"  she  asked  as  she  collected  her 
belongings. 

"Indeed  I  do,"  said  Georgia  jealously. 
"Will  you  be  at  the  club  for  lunch  to-day?" 

"Indeed  I  will,"  responded  Miss  Gerson, 
departing. 

The  telephone  tinkled  on  Georgia's  desk. 

250  ' 


The  Last  of  the  Old  Man 

"Hello,"  came  the  voice,  "is  this  Miss  Ger- 
son?" 

"Did  you  wish  to  speak  to  her  person- 
ally?" 

"I  wish  to  speak  with  Miss  Gerson,  Mr. 
Tatton's  secretary." 

"This  is  his  secretary,"  said  Georgia. 

"This  is  St.  Luke's  hospital,"  said  the 
voice.  ' '  Mr.  Tatton  wants  you  to  take  a  cab 
and  come  right  down  here  to  see  him,  and 
say — hello — I'm  not  through — bring  your 
typewriter.  Eight  away." 

The  old  man  was  propped  up  in  a  chair, 
fully  dressed,  when  Georgia  arrived.  "Oh, 
Miss  Connor,"  he  said  when  he  saw  her,  "I 
wasn't  expecting  you.  All  the  better,  though. 
Glad  you're  well  again.  I'm  not."  He  held 
his  hand  to  his  side  and  seemed  to  have  dif- 
ficulty with  his  breathing. 

' '  Take  this, ' '  he  said.  <  '  Date  it  and  write : 
Codicil.  And  I  hereby  declare  and  publish, 
being  of  sound  mind  and  body,  and  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses,  that  I  do  now  revoke 
and  cancel  and  make  of  no  effect  and  void,  in 
whole  and  in  part,  the  clause  numbered 
seven — then  put  also  figure  seven  in  paren- 
thesis— in  the  foregoing  instrument,  will  and 

251 


Rebellion 

testament  of  date  July  second,  nineteen  hun- 
dred and  five.  I  expressly  withdraw  and 
withhold  all  the  bequests  therein  made, 
named  and  stipulated.'' 

Georgia  took  his  words  directly  on  the 
machine.  A  nurse  and  an  interne  witnessed 
his  signature. 

"Now,"  said  the  old  man,  "take  this  in 
shorthand,  to  my  wife,  care  Platz  &  Com- 
pany, Bankers,  18  Eue  Scribe,  Paris,  France. 

"Dear  Marion:  Except  for  those  three 
pleasant  days  last  summer  we  haven't  seen 
each  other  for  six  years,  and  as  you  will 
know  long  before  you  read  this,  we  shan't 
see  each  other  alive  again. 

"I  deeply  regret  that,  especially  of  later 
years,  our  marriage  has  been  so  unsuccess- 
ful. I  apprehend  clearly  that  the  fault  lay 
with  me  insofar  as  I — quote — had  grown  so 
very  prosy — end  quote — as  you  remarked 
last  summer. 

"My  last  wish  is  that  you  will  bring  Elsie 
home  and  keep  her  here  until  she  marries 
some  decent  American  with  an  occupation. 
Underline  those  last  three  words,  Miss  Con- 
nor. She  is  now  a  young  woman  of  seven- 
teen, and  it  was  evident  to  me  last  summer 

252 


The  Last  of  the  Old  Man 

that  her  head  is  fast  becoming  stuffed  with 
nonsense.  She  is  learning  to  look  down  on 
her  country  and  her  countrymen  and  mark 
my  words — underline  mark  my  words,  Miss 
Connor — if  you  encourage  her  to  marry 
some  foreign  scamp  she  will  be  very  un- 
happy. I  know  you  don't  agree  with  these 
views,  but  I  know  they  are  sound,  and  if  you 
keep  Elsie  over  there  you  will  live  to  see 
that  proved;  although  I  hope  not. 

"Give  my  love  to  Elsie  and  remind  her  of 
her  old  dad  now  and  then. 

"Good-bye,  Marion.  You  and  Elsie  are 
the  only  women  I  ever  loved. 

"That's  all,  Miss  Connor.  Now  what  I 
want  you  to  do  is  this:  If  I  don't  come  out 
of  this  operation — appendicitis — please  write 
that  up  and  mail  it.  Just  sign  it  Fred.  If 
I  do  get  well,  destroy  your  notes  and  don't 
send  the  letter. 

"Oh,  you  better  add  a  postscript — P.  S. 
I  am  dictating  this  because  I  have  neither 
the  time  nor  the  strength  to  write  myself.  I 
was  attacked  suddenly." 

Two  nurses  and  a  doctor  who  had  been 
waiting  now  gathered  about  the  old  man, 
lifted  him  gently  to  the  bed  and  began  to 

253 


Rebellion 

undress  him.    He  held  out  his  hand.    * '  Good- 
bye, Miss  Connor,"  he  said. 

He  died,  and  Georgia  sent  the  letter  to  his 
wife. 


254 


XXIV 

THE  NEW  KING 

Samuel  Cleever,  a  tall,  thin  dyspeptic  with 
a  pince-nez  and  English  intonation,  was 
moved  from  Newark,  N.  J.,  to  succeed  the 
old  man. 

His  first  conference  with  Georgia  was  brief. 
"Good  morning,  Miss  Ah-ah-" 

"Connor." 

"Quite  so.  Do  you  understand  the  Singer 
cross-filing  reference  system?" 

"I  understand  cross-indexing  and  card- 
catalogues." 

"The  Singer  system  specifically,  do  you 
know  that?" 

"No,  sir." 

"So  I  feared." 

"But  I  could  learn  quickly." 

"Quite  so.  But  to  be  frank,"  said  Mr. 
Cleever,  "I  have  brought  my  private  secre- 
tary with  me  from  Newark."  New  kings 
make  new  courts. 

255 


Rebellion 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Georgia  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  will  assign  you  to  the  auditing  depart- 
ment for  the  present." 

"Yes,  sir." 

She  felt  many  eyes  upon  her  and  her  cheeks 
were  burning  as  she  walked  down  the  long 
room  carrying  her  business  belongings  to  a 
narrow  flat-top  which  the  young  auditor 
pointed  out  to  her.  It  was  next  the  inside 
wall. 

The  color  came  to  her  face  in  waves  as 
she  passed  Miss  Gerson's  desk  and  she  had  a 
furious  sensation  that  her  habit  of  blushing 
was  damnable.  Why,  she  asked  herself  an- 
grily, couldn't  she  at  least  appear  calm  in 
unpleasant  situations! 

Her  new  work  was  less  interesting,  more 
mechanical.  There  were  rows  on  rows  of 
figures  in  it,  and  much  technical  accounting 
jargon.  She  ceased  to  throw  in  overtime  to 
the  company,  quitting  sharply  each  night  on 
the  dot  of  five  thirty.  On  pay  night  she 
found,  as  she  had  feared,  that  her  salary  had 
been  standardized.  She  received  the  regular 
class  A  stenographer's  $15  instead  of  the 
private  secretary's  $20. 

On  Tuesday  of  her  second  week  in  the  au- 

256 


The  New  King 

diting  department,  Mr.  Cleever  sent  for  her. 
Hoping  devoutly  that  the  new  secretary  had 
sprained  his  wrist  (Mr.  Cleever 's  secretary 
was  a  young  man,  Mrs.  Cleever  having  been 
a  stenographer  herself),  Georgia  took  her 
notebook. 

But  Mr.  Cleever  wanted  instead  to  inform 
her  that  the  system  of  bookkeeping  whereof 
she  was  the  apparent  beneficiary  disaccorded 
with  his  notions  of  system. 

Since  that  remark  seemed  to  leave  her  in 
the  dark,  he  tossed  across  his  table  to  her  a 
report  from  the  auditor's  department  which 
showed  that  in  the  past  seven  weeks  she  had 
been  credited  with  $140  which  had  been 
debited  to  Mason  Stevens,  also  that  Colum- 
bus Hospital  bills  for  $129.60  (including  ex- 
tras) had  been  paid  by  the  company  and 
charged  to  Stevens,  and  that  a  doctor 's  state- 
ment for  $300  had  been  settled  by  the  com- 
pany and  charged  to  Mr.  Silverman  's  private 
fund.  As  to  the  last  item,  Mr.  Cleever  ex- 
plained he,  of  course,  had  nothing  to  say,  but 
as  to  the  other  two,  although  he  had  neither 
the  desire  nor  the  right  to  inquire  into  her 
personal  affairs  or  her  conduct  out  of  the 
office,  he  must  henceforth  make  it  an  un- 

257 


Rebellion 

deviating  rule  not  to  permit  the  use  of  the 
company's  books  to  facilitate  private  finan- 
cial transactions  between  employes. 

As  Mr,  Cleever's  precise  syllables  clicked 
on,  she  looked  from  him  to  the  two  page  re- 
port in  her  hand,  and  back  again  to  him.  Her 
lips  were  partly  open  and  she  breathed 
through  them. 

When  he  spoke  of  his  desire  not  to  inquire 
into  her  conduct  out  of  the  office,  she  thought 
she  distinguished  a  discreet  sneer  in  his 
modulated  voice. 

She  knew  instantly  that  it  was  out  of  the 
question  for  her  to  remain  in  the  place.  The 
report  she  held  had  been  typewritten  by  a 
woman  in  her  own  department.  It  would 
spread  from  her  to  the  other  women  and  then 
to  the  men.  Her  engagement  to  marry  Stev- 
ens could  never  now  be  announced  in  explana- 
tion. She  would  be  construed  as  she  herself 
had  construed  the  tall,  red-headed  girl  with 
the  abundant  figure. 

She  felt  a  flood  rush  over  her  face,  suf- 
fusing it  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  She  saw 
that  Cleever  saw  it,  and  that  he  took  it  for 
confirmation  of  his  suspicions. 


258 


The  New  King 

"Mr.  Cleever,  I  assure  you  I  never  knew 
anything  of  this  until  this  moment." 

"Of  course,  Miss  Connor, "  he  responded 
drily.  "  Please  understand  I  make  no  criti- 
cism of  the  method  of  my  predecessor.  But 
in  future — " 

"It  will  stop,  Mr.  Cleever.  I  wish  to  hand 
in  my  resignation." 

"We  are  sorry  to  lose  you,  Miss  Connor, 
but  of  course  if  that  is  your  decision — " 

"Yes,  sir,  it  is." 

He  bowed  slightly.  "Then  at  the  end  of 
the  week,  Saturday?" 

"Yes,  sir,  Saturday  night." 

He  again  bowed  slightly  to  signify  that  it 
was  understood  and  that  their  talk  was 
ended. 

She  took  her  lunch  hour  to  write  to  Mason. 
She  put  many  sheets  in  the  machine  and 
crumpled  them  into  the  waste  basket  in  ac- 
complishing this : 

Dear  Mason:  I  have  just  learned  of  your 
kindness  to  me  at  the  hospital.  Thank  you 
for  the  thought. 

I  find  that  I  owe  you  $269.60,  which  I  will 
repay  in  installments.  I  enclose  $12  for  first 

259 


Rebellion 

installment.  I  regret  that  I  am  unable  to 
pay  it  all  at  once.  I  am  leaving  the  office. 
Please  don't  write. 

Congratulations  on  your  success. 

Sincerely, 

Georgia  Connor. 

She  felt  as  she  dropped  the  note  in  the 
mail  chute  that  Mason  was  a  man  to  love. 
Imagine  Jim  doing  her  a  great  service  and 
keeping  it  quiet.  Jim  took  his  affections  out 
in  words  and  physical  embrace.  Jim — she 
caught  herself  up  suddenly.  This  wasn't  he- 
ing  resigned,  as  she  had  prayed  God  she 
might  be. 

She  answered  half  a  dozen  want  ads  be- 
fore she  could  get  the  upset  price  she  had 
determined  on — eighteen  dollars.  She  cov- 
enanted for  this  finally  with  a  frowsy  look- 
ing, bald  little  lawyer,  in  an  old-fashioned 
five-story,  pile-foundationed,  gray  stone 
building  on  Clark  street,  put  up  soon  after 
the  fire.  The  windows  were  seldom  washed 
and  there  were  two  obsolete  rope  elevators. 

The  little  lawyer,  Mr.  Matthews,  had  a 
large  single  room  in  which  he  sublet  desk- 
room  to  a  pair  of  young  real-estaters. 

260 


The  New  King 

Georgia  didn't  like  the  looks  of  the  place, 
but  inasmuch  as  Mr.  Matthews  didn't  haggle 
an  instant  about  her  salary,  she  took  it. 

She  had  nothing  important  to  do.  Mr. 
Matthews'  mind  was  fussy  and  unsystema- 
tic. He  had  little  business  and  set  her  to 
copying  over  his  briefs  of  bygone  years. 
"Codifying,"  he  called  it;  why  she  never 
knew. 

She  shrewdly  suspected  she  was  engaged 
rather  as  a  "front"  to  impress  clients  than 
to  work  at  her  trade. 

Whenever  a  visitor,  whether  collector  or 
suspender  peddler,  came  to  see  Mr.  Mat- 
thews, that  attorney  bade  him  sit  a  few  min- 
utes while  he  finished  up  a  letter  that  had 
to  catch  the  Twentieth  Century  or  the  five 
thirty  Pennsylvania  Limited,  as  the  case 
might  be.  Then  he  would  fake  a  letter  and 
Georgia  would  help  him  at  the  end  by  in- 
quiring, "Special  delivery,  I  suppose,  sir?" 

It  answered  her  purpose  for  the  time  be- 
ing, but  she  hadn't  the  vaguest  intention  of 
staying.  She  saw  there  was  no  future. 

Mr.  Matthews  each  morning  requested  her 
to  oblige  the  young  real-estaters  by  "helping 
them  out"  with  their  correspondence. 

261 


Rebellion 

" Helping  them  out"  meant  doing  it  all. 
Mr.  Matthews  was  brimming  with  euphem- 
isms. Likewise  they,  the  real  estaters,  got 
to  asking  her  to  "help  out"  their  friends, 
which  she  good-naturedly  did — in  hours. 

Saturday  Mr.  Matthews  didn't  turn  up, 
nor  yet  Monday.  Tuesday  when  Georgia 
suggested  her  payment,  he  said  he  was  ex- 
pecting a  check  that  afternoon.  Thursday, 
when  she  insisted  on  it,  he  told  her  to  collect 
half  from  the  real-estaters,  since  she  had 
been  working  for  them  as  much  as  for  him. 

She  couldn't  see  it  that  way  at  all.  He 
had  engaged  her. 

He  fell  into  legal  phraseology.  "Qui  facit 
per  alium,"  or  something  of  the  sort;  and 
she  told  him  nettly  she  wasn't  a  fool  and  that 
if  he  didn't  pay  her  immediately  she  would 
attach  his  furniture. 

He  turned  his  pockets  inside  out,  showing 
a  ten-dollar  bill  and  eighty-five  cents.  She 
took  the  bill  and  walked  out.  But  it  wasn't 
much  of  a  triumph.  Her  wages  during  her 
employment  by  Mr.  Matthews  had  averaged 
six  dollars  a  week. 

She  was  therefore  unable  to  send  Mason 
another  installment;  and  couldn't  help  being 

262 


The  New  King 

relieved  because,  despite  her  injunction,  he 
had  written  her. 


"Dear  Mrs.  Connor:  Please  do  not  hurry 
at  all  in  that  matter.  Indeed,  I  would  be 
pleased  to  consider  it  an  investment  bring- 
ing in  5°/0,  or  if  you  prefer,  tf%  a  year.  If 
you  pay  me  $16.18  annually  (or  $4.18  more 
during  the  balance  of  the  current  year),  that 
would  be  an  advantageous  business  arrange- 
ment for  me.  I  hope  you  may  see  your  way 
clear  to  agreeing  to  this. 

"With  kind  regards, 

"Very  truly, 

"Mason  Stevens.'9 


263 


XXT 

JIM  BEENLISTS 

Georgia  smiled  a  little  woefully  oyer  the 
transparent  intention  of  Stevens'  letter.  He 
was  so  obviously  trying  to  do  her  a  great 
kindness  and  disguise  it  as  business  by  his 
talk  of  six  per  cent. 

She  knew  that  with  young  men  and  small 
sums  interest  rates  lose  their  meaning.  Ev- 
erybody would  rather  have  a  quarter  down 
than  a  cent  a  year  forever.  Any  young 
hustler  on  a  salary  would  rather  have  $270 
cash  than  an  unsecured  promise  of  $16  an- 
nually. 

Oh,  he  was  naive  and  boyish  as  ever  to 
think  she  wouldn't  promptly  penetrate  his 
little  plan.  She  had  always  seen  through  his 
various  tricks  and  stratagems  in  regard  to 
her  from  the  very  beginning.  She  didn't  re- 
member one  time  when  he  had  fooled  her  suc- 
cessfully. It  was  like  having  a  young  son 
who  hardly  needs  to  talk  to  you  at  all,  you 

264 


Jim  Reenlists 

can  read  his  mind  so  easily  as  it  runs  along 
from  thing  to  thing. 

She  went  to  a  newspaper  office  to  answer 
one  advertisement  and  insert  another.  The 
one  she  answered  was  for  "A  rapid  typist — 
beginners  not  wanted.  State  name,  experi- 
ence, age,  education."  A  blind  address  was 
given.  "Y  672, "  care  of  the  paper.  She 
wrote  an  appreciative  account  of  her  talents, 
but  was  grieved  to  discover  that  Y  672  was 
none  other  than  the  Eastern  Life  Assurance 
Company.  Evidently  Mr.  Cleever  was  going 
in  for  many  changes. 

Ten  days  later  she  was  with  a  mail  order 
house,  in  a  huge  reenforced  concrete  block- 
like building,  just  across  the  river  on  the 
west  side.  The  roof  of  this  enormous  edifice, 
according  to  advertisement,  covered  99  acres 
of  floor  space,  or  some  such  dimension.  The 
firm  didn't  do  a  retail  business  in  Chicago, 
so  everything  was  rough  and  ready.  The 
clerks  worked  in  their  shirt  sleeves,  usually 
blue  ones.  They  were  a  bigger,  thicker- 
necked  lot  than  the  downtowners,  and  freer- 
tongued  before  the  women.  She  wasn't  at 
all  disconcerted,  however,  by  any  amount  of 
the  " damns"  and  "hells." 

265 


Rebellion 

She  was  described  on  the  books  of  the  com- 
pany as  "Stenographer;  Class  A;  Female; 
First  six  months'  of  employment;  salary 
$12."  The  understanding  was  that  if  she 
made  good  she  would  be  promoted,  and  this 
she  promised  herself  to  do,  but  didn't. 

The  advertisement  which  Georgia  put  in 
the  paper  was : 

TO  KENT— 2667  Pearl  Ave.,  beautiful  dou- 
ble front  room,  near  lake  and  park;  single 
gentleman;  breakfast  if  desired;  reasoa- 
able.  Connor,  third  flat. 

Mrs.  Talbot  could  not  be  brought  to  low- 
ering caste  by  taking  a  roomer  until  Georgia 
explained  about  her  debt  to  Mason.  This 
veered  the  older  woman's  mind  violently 
about,  and  she  began  immediately  to  figure 
if  it  wouldn't  be  possible  to  squeeze  in  two 
persons  instead  of  one — which  proposition 
Georgia  promptly  vetoed. 

Jim  acquiesced  gloomily  in  the  loss  of  the 
front  room.  He  didn't  see  why  paying 
Stevens'  interest  at  six  per  cent  wouldn't 
satisfy  the  nicest  sense  of  honor.  Six  per 
cent  was  a  good  investment  for  anybody. 
Lord  knows  he  wished  someone  was  paying 
it  to  him.  He  would  feel  ashamed  to  have 

266 


Jim  Reenlists 

a  visitor  shown  back  to  the  dining  room  in- 
stead of  forward  to  the  parlor. 

Al  alone  contemplated  the  subject  with 
equanimity.  He  dismissed  it  by  saying  that 
it  wouldn't  get  him  anything  one  way  or  the 
other.  To  him  the  parlor  meant  the  place 
where  the  family  gathered  together  after  sup- 
per to  bore  him.  He'd  rather  sit  in  a  back 
room  and  chin  with  the  crowd  across  a  round, 
yellow,  slippery  table,  or  go  across  to  Jonas' 
and  try  to  win  a  little  beer  money  at  Kelly 
pool.  He  seldom  analyzed  his  emotions;  he 
simply  knew  it  was  fun  to  squat  down  by  the 
rectangular  green  cloth  table,  squint  his  eye, 
and  sight  his  shot,  while  the  crowd  watched 
him  through  the  cigarette  smoke,  then  to 
straighten  up  decisively  as  if  he  had  solved 
the  problem,  tip  his  hat  back,  whistle  through 
his  teeth,  chalk  his  cue  and  put  the  ball  in. 
Contrariwise  it  was  darned  little  fun  in  the 
front  room  after  supper. 

The  applicant  for  lodging  with  whom 
Georgia  finally  agreed  on  terms  was  Mr. 
Cyrus  Kane,  copy  reader  on  an  afternoon 
newspaper.  He  was  a  widower  of  forty-five, 
quiet,  neat  and  regular  pay.  He  never  once 
had  a  visitor  to  see  him.  He  didn't  kick. 

267 


Rebellion 

But  to  balance  all  these  excellent  qualities 
was  one  major  drawback:  bis  unalterable 
condition  was  tbat  be  should  be  served  in  bed 
with  a  pot  of  black  coffee  at  five  o  'clock  each 
morning.  He  explained  he  had  to  be  at  the 
office  at  six,  and  that  he  couldn't  stir  without 
coffee;  in  fact,  he  said  he  was  a  regular 
caffein  fiend.  Georgia  hesitated,  then  added 
a  dollar  and  a  half  to  her  price,  which  he  ac- 
cepted, agreeing  to  pay  $5.50  a  week. 

Mrs.  Talbot  paled  a  trifle  when  informed 
that  she  had  been  elected  to  arise  at  4 :45  A. 
M.  every  day  and  set  Mr.  Kane's  coffee  on 
the  gas  ring  until  it  was  hot  enough  to  take 
in  to  him.  But  she  agreed  because  she  felt 
that  so  she  was  helping  to  clear  Georgia's 
honor.  On  the  first  Sunday  morning  of  this 
stay  Mrs.  Talbot  missed  the  coffee  because 
she  knew  that  Mr.  Kane's  paper  didn't  pub- 
lish that  day  and  supposed,  or  anyway  hoped, 
that  he  would  sleep  late.  At  six  the  whole 
family  was  awakened  by  his  loud  mutterings 
to  himself  which  percolated  through  the  flat. 

"They  agreed  to  bring  my  coffee  at  five; 
they  agreed;  and  here  it  is  near  seven  and 

not  a  sign  of  it.  Not  a  sign  of  it.  

it.  I'll  leave,  yes  by  I'll  leave!"  He 

268 


Jim  Reenlists 

thrashed  about  furiously  in  his  bed,  turning 
over  and  over,  and  striking  the  pillow  with 
clenched  fists  in  his  rage. 

Mrs.  Talbot,  in  sack  and  skirt  over  her 
nightgown,  stockingless,  her  gray  hair  loose, 
went  running  in  to  him  with  his  pot  of  steam- 
ing black  dope.  He  smiled  cherubically  when 
he  saw  her.  It  was  the  only  trouble  they 
ever  had  with  him. 

On  Mr.  Kane's  coming  Jim  had  to  clear 
out  of  the  front  room,  so  he  went  to 
Georgia's. 

That  evening  as  she  undressed  rapidly  in 
the  light  before  his  approving  eyes  she  had 
a  sudden  strange  relieved  feeling  that  after 
what  she  had  been  through  in  the  past  few 
months  a  little  more  wouldn't  greatly  mat- 
ter one  way  or  the  other. 

It  would  certainly  be  unpleasant  to  have 
Jim  pawing  her  again,  but  she  had  success- 
fully postponed  it  much  longer  than  she  ex- 
pected, so  now  she  had  better  be  philosophi- 
cal about  it.  As  far  as  she  could  gather  most 
women  obliged  their  husbands  and  not  them- 
selves in  the  frequency  of  their  embraces. 

Why,  therefore,  excite  her  imagination  and 
her  sense  of  horror,  and  try  to  make  a  tre- 

269 


Rebellion 

mendous  hard  luck  story  out  of  what  after 
all  was  a  perfectly  common  and  commonplace 
situation?  Let  her  avoid  it  whenever  pos- 
sible and  accept  it  with  calm  equanimity  when 
necessary. 

It  was  rather  ridiculous  to  think  herself 
a  shrinking  victim  of  masculine  passion.  She 
had  borne  this  man  a  child,  she  was  scarred 
with  life,  a  matron  of  nearly  ten  years  stand- 
ing. 

"And  I  look  every  bit  of  it,"  she  com- 
mented half  aloud,  as  she  stood  before  the 
mirror  slipping  off  her  corset  cover. 

"What'd  you  say?"  he  asked,  turning  his 
eyes  toward  her.  He  was  seated  on  the  bed 
stooping  over,  trying  to  undo  a  hard  knotted 
shoe  lace  with  his  blunt  finger  nails. 

"I  said  hurry  up — I'm  sleepy." 

"You  just  bet  I  will,"  he  answered  eagerly. 

Not  long  after  this  domestic  readjustment 
Jim  was  smoking,  his  wife  reading  and  his 
mother-in-law  sewing  in  the  dining  room  after 
supper  when  the  doorbell  rang  from  the 
vestibule  below.  Georgia  pressed  the  opener 
and  admitted  Ed  Miles,  the  boss  of  the  ward, 
"the  big  fellow."  She  wasn't  a  bit  glad  to 
see  him.  She  thought  that  to  keep  Jim  away 

270 


Jim  Reenlists 

from  politics  and  politicians  was  the  only 
way  to  keep  him  away  from  drinking. 

The  big  fellow  made  a  formal  call.  He 
sat  on  the  edge  of  his  chair,  his  gray  derby 
hat  pushed  under  it,  and  constantly  ad- 
dressed Georgia  as  ma'am.  Although  she 
mistrusted  him  every  moment  of  his  visit, 
she  felt  the  power  of  him,  the  brusque  charm 
of  his  vitality,  the  humor  of  his  laugh. 

When  he  rose  to  go  he  said  good-bye  po- 
litely to  the  women  and  then  to  Jim,  who 
could  tell  by  the  pressure  of  the  big  fellow's 
hand  that  he  wanted  a  word  alone  with  him. 

"I'll  see  you  to  the  door,  Ed,"  said  Jim, 
and  they  walked  out  together. 

Georgia  noticed  thankfully  that  her  hus- 
band did  not  take  his  hat  and  that  he  was 
wearing  slippers. 

"I  want  you  to  do  me  a  little  favor,  Jim. 
You  know  we  have  our  ward  club  election 
the  first  Monday  of  the  new  year. 

"Yes." 

"Come  around." 

"  I  ain  't  a  member  of  the  club  any  more. ' ' 

"I'll  fix  that — and  your  back  dues,  too." 

"I  promised  my  wife  to  keep  out  of 
politics." 

271 


Rebellion 

"I  don't  blame  her  either.  You  were  go- 
ing some  for  a  married  man.  But  the  fact 
is,  they're  trying  under  cover  to  take  the  or- 
ganization away  from  us." 

"I  heard  there  was  a  little  battle  on." 

"It's  more  than  that.  It  goes  deep. 
They've  got  backing.  Now  if  my  friends 
throw  me  down — " 

"You  know  damn  well  I  wouldn't  throw 
you  down,  Ed." 

"If  you  don't  come  to  the  front  when  I 
need  you,  it's  the  same  thing.  And  I  need 
you  now.  This  is  confidential,  y 'under- 
stand?" 

"Sure." 

"Because  I  wouldn't  let  it  get  out  I  was 
worried." 

The  two  men  were  standing  side  by  side  on 
the  front  stoop  in  a  stream  of  arc  light  from 
the  street  lamp. 

"I  want  your  vote,"  said  Miles,  "for  old 
sake's  sake." 

"I  dassen't  go  into  politics  regular,  Ed." 

"I  don't  ask  you  to." 

"But  I  might  slip  up  to  the  ward  meeting 
one  night,  just  doing  my  duty  as  a  citizen." 

"You're  a  good  fellow,  Jim."   There  was 

272 


Jim  Reenlists 

a  trace  of  huskiness  in  the  big  fellow's  bass 
voice  and  Jim  felt  himself  again  moved  by 
his  old  loyalty  to  his  leader.  The  two  shook 
hands  warmly,  fervently,  with  the  facile  emo- 
tions of  politicians. 

"One  thing  about  me — I  never  quit  on  my 
friends  when  they  need  me."  There  was  a 
perceptible  huskiness  in  Jim's  voice  also. 

"I  know  it  damn  well,"  said  the  big  fel- 
low, throwing  his  arm  about  the  other's 
shoulder,  "because  you're  a  thoroughbred." 
He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  side  pocket  and 
brought  forth  several  dozen  large  glazed 
white  cards  bearing  the  legend,  "For  Presi- 
dent Fortieth  Ward  Club,  Carl  Schroeder," 
with  an  oval  half-tone  of  the  fat-faced  candi- 
date. 

"I  don't  know's  I've  got  time  to  make  any 
canvass,  Ed,"  said  Jim,  slipping  the  cards 
back  and  forth  through  his  fingers.  "So 
you're  running  Carl,  eh?" 

The  big  fellow  boomed  a  laugh.  "You 
didn't  know  it — Reuben  come  to  town.  Sure 
we're  running  Carl,  and  he  said  only  this 
morning  if  he  could  get  you  with  him  he'd 
walk  in. ' ' 


273 


Rebellion 

Jim  was  pleased.  "Did  Carl  say  that, 
honest !" 

"Come  on  up  to  the  corner  and  he'll  tell 
you  himself." 

"I  haven't  got  my  hat." 

"Take  mine."  The  boss  slipped  his  gray 
derby  on  Jim's  head.  It  descended  to  his 
ears.  "You're  a  regular  pinhead,"  ex- 
claimed the  big  fellow  loudly,  and  they  both 
laughed. 

They  walked  up  to  the  saloon,  Connor's 
slippers  flapping  against  the  pavement  flags 
with  every  step. 

The  saloon  welcomed  Jim  as  if  he  had  been 
a  conquering  hero.  It  was  light  and  warm 
and  gay  and  full  of  men. 

Carl  Schroeder  and  Jim  went  into  the  pri- 
vate office  and  whispered  importantly  to- 
gether for  half  an  hour.  When  they  came 
out,  Carl  was  smiling  and  announced,  clap- 
ping Jim  on  the  back,  "This  old  scout's 
brought  be  the  best  news  in  a  week.  What '11 
you  have,  boys?" 

Jim  took  lithia,  explaining  he  was  wagon- 
ing, and  they  congratulated  him  and  took 
whiskey  themselves.  He  left  reasonably 
early,  half  a  dozen  rounds  of  lithia  having 

274 


Jim  Reenlists 

given  him  a  rather  sloppy-weather  sensation 
within.  Besides,  the  other  fellows  had  got  to 
feeling  good  and  were  talking  to  beat  the 
band,  and  he  just  sat  there  like  a  bump  on  a 
log  without  a  thing  to  say. 

Not  that  the  drinkers  seemed  particularly 
wise  or  witty,  for  some  of  them  began  to 
sound  increasingly  foolish  as  he  listened  to 
them,  cold  sober.  But  the  liquor  put  them  on 
a  different  plane  from  him,  lower  perhaps, 
but  also  wilder,  freer,  less  deliberate  and  re- 
strained. Their  thoughts  didn't  follow  the 
same  sequence  as  his  and  he  couldn't  meet 
their  minds  as  they  seemed  able  to  meet  each 
others.  He  was  self-conscious  and  glum  and 
awkward,  like  a  new  millionaire  in  the  hands 
of  his  first  valet.  And  he  knew  that  one  drink 
of  whiskey  would  alter  all  that  and  put  him 
in  right.  But  he  didn't  take  it. 

The  big  fellow  saw  him  to  the  door,  giving 
him  a  cap  that  he  picked  up  in  the  private 
office  to  go  home  in. 

"  You  '11  do  what  you  can  for  the  organiza- 
tion in  your  precinct?" 

"Sure." 

"And  we  won't  forget  you." 

"Thanks,  Ed,  that's  mighty  fine  of  you." 

275 


Rebellion 

They  shook  hands ;  then  Jim  felt  his  fingers 
closing  over  a  ten-dollar  bill  which  had  been 
pressed  into  his  palm.  It  was  easy  money, 
he  thought,  as  he  paddled  home  in  his  cap 
and  slippers.  All  he'd  have  to  do  to  earn  it 
would  be  to  get  around  among  the  neighbors 
evenings  for  a  couple  or  three  weeks. 

When  Georgia,  who  had  been  waiting  up 
for  him  with  a  peculiar  fluttering  of  the  heart 
each  time  that  she  heard  a  step  on  the  stairs, 
found  that  he  was  entirely  sober,  she  kissed 
him  of  her  own  accord. 


276 


XXVI 

EVE 

Some  six  months  later,  on  a  hot,  sticky 
afternoon  in  July,  Georgia  came  away  from  a 
State  Street  department  store  carrying  a 
paper-wrapped  parcel  under  her  arm.  She 
had  come  down  town  to  take  advantage  of  an 
odds  and  ends  sale  of  white  goods  advertised 
that  morning. 

In  spite  of  the  heat  which  beat  down  from 
a  cloudless,  windless  sky  and  radiated  up 
from  the  stone  pavements  where  it  had  stored 
itself,  she  wore  a  long  bluish-gray  pongee 
coat.  There  were  dark  rings  under  her  eyes 
and  she  felt  ill  and  dispirited  as  she  waited 
at  Dearborn  and  Eandolph  for  a  North  Clark 
Street  car,  which  would  drop  her  a  block 
nearer  her  flat  than  the  L  would. 

The  car  was  slow  in  coming  and  a  crowd  of 
fifteen  or  twenty  gathered  to  wait  for  it. 
Most  of  them  were  women  homeward  bound 
after  the  morning's  shopping  excitement. 
One  of  them  also  wore  a  long  bluish-gray 

277 


Rebellion 

coat  and  Georgia  remembered  having  seen 
her  at  the  white  goods  remnant  counter. 
They  caught  each  other's  eyes  and  smiled 
faintly  but  did  not  speak. 

When  the  car  stopped  there  was  the  cus- 
tomary rush  for  seats  and  Georgia  had  to 
content  herself  with  a  strap.  She  balanced 
her  bundle  against  her  hip  and  shifted  her 
weight  uncomfortably  from  foot  to  foot  sway- 
ing to  the  motion  of  the  car,  envying  men. 

A  passenger  who  looked  like  an  oldish 
maid,  with  gold-rimmed  spectacles  and 
tightly  drawn  thin  hair,  half  rose  and  beck- 
oned to  Georgia. 

"I'm  getting  out  at  the  next  corner/'  she 
said,  and  sliding  across  the  knees  of  the  per- 
son next  to  her,  gave  Georgia  a  seat  next  the 
window  on  the  shady  side. 

' '  Thank  you,  thank  you  very  much  indeed, ' ' 
said  Georgia  gratefully.  Several  blocks  later 
she  turned  and  saw  the  maiden  lady  still 
standing  on  the  back  platform  leaning 
against  the  controller-box  and  trying  to  write 
something  on  the  back  of  a  paper  novel  with 
a  fountain  pen.  She  had  a  sudden  warm 
feeling  for  this  unknown  friend  who  had  done 
her  a  small  kindness  with  delicacy. 

278 


Eve 

Then,  for  she  was  nervously  unstable  and 
the  hues  and  tinges  of  her  emotions  followed 
each  other  very  rapidly  like  magic  lantern 
slides,  she  became  suddenly  and  deeply  hu- 
miliated. Was  she  already  so  noticeable  that 
strange  women,  much  older  than  she,  would 
offer  her  their  seats!  From  day  to  day  she 
had  gone  on,  still  hoping  that  she  was  able 
to  deceive  the  casual  eye.  Henceforth  she 
felt  that  she  could  not  by  any  stretch  of  will 
bring  herself  to  go  out  of  the  house  except 
at  night. 

The  car  made  moving  pictures  for  her  as 
she  looked  through  the  heavy  wire  grill  which 
kept  people  from  putting  their  heads  out  of 
the  windows,  at  the  men  slowly  walking  up 
and  down  the  hot  sidewalk  in  their  shirt 
sleeves  or  stopping  to  talk  under  the  project- 
ing awnings  of  saloons  and  fruit  stores,  at 
the  wrappered  women  sitting  stupidly  in  the 
upper  windows  of  run-down  brick  buildings 
devoted  to  light  housekeeping,  at  children 
sucking  hokey-pokey  cones  or  playing  ball  in 
a  side  street. 

The  children  seemed  to  her  the  only  ones 
with  joy.  Perhaps  that  was  because  they 
didn't  know  what  they  were  up  against. 

279 


Rebellion 

The  motorman  clanged  his  gong  angrily 
twenty  times,  then  had  to  slow  down  and  stop 
behind  a  lumbering  coal  wagon  while  the 
driver,  a  much  blackened  and  begrimed  Irish- 
man, climbed  leisurely  from  his  seat  and 
fussed  with  the  neck  yokes  of  his  team,  swear- 
ing sulkily  at  the  motorman  the  while.  A 
messenger  boy  got  back  at  him,  in  the  opin- 
ion of  the  front  platform,  by  hailing  him  as 
Jack  Johnson,  the  hope  of  the  dark  race. 
The  teamster  responded  with  some  dirty  lan- 
guage. It  was  a  bad,  hot  day  for  tempers. 

Georgia  had  time  during  the  delay  to  be- 
come interested  in  a  little  drama  which  was 
then  being  enacted  directly  across  the  street 
from  her.  Its  impelling  power  seemed  to  be 
a  dead  white  horse  which  lay  on  the  soft 
sticky  asphalt,  surrounded  by  a  fringe  of  men 
and  boys  who  stared  quietly  at  a  little  pool  of 
blood  that  came  from  a  round  hole  above  the 
animal's  eye. 

The  horse's  mate  stood  stolidly  in  harness, 
hitched  still  to  his  wagon.  She  wondered  if 
now  he  would  have  to  pull  it  home  alone.  A 
man  with  a  note  book  pushed  through  the 
crowd.  He  was  evidently  in  authority  of 
some  sort.  He  asked  a  little  boy  something 

280 


Eve 

and  the  boy  turned  and  pointed  toward  an 
alley  entrance  cat-a-corner  from  where  he 
stood. 

Then  a  big  man  with  a  whip  in  his  hand,  a 
leather  strap  around  his  waist  and  a  union 
button  in  his  cap,  probably  the  driver  of  the 
dead  horse,  threw  his  cap  on  the  ground  and 
stamped  his  foot,  shook  his  fist  at  the  boy 
and  turned  his  back  on  the  man  with  the  note 
book  and  refused  to  answer  his  questions. 
She  couldn't  understand  it  at  all.  It  seemed 
very  unreasonable. 

Then  a  street  car  bound  the  other  way 
rolled  up  and  came  to  a  stop  between  her 
and  the  white  horse.  Mason  Stevens  sat  on 
the  seat  precisely  opposite  hers,  so  near  that 
they  could  have  shaken  hands  if  the  two 
grilled  iron  screens  had  not  been  in  the  way. 
She  noticed  that  his  jaw  fell  open,  like  a  dead 
person's. 

She  heard  her  conductor  and  the  other  con- 
ductor jerk  simultaneously  the  go-ahead 
signals  and  the  cars,  quickly  getting  up  speed, 
went  in  different  directions.  She  did  not  turn 
her  head,  but  she  could  feel  the  moment  when 
he  flipped  onto  the  back  platform.  Then  she 


281 


Rebellion 

heard  him  come  up  the  aisle,  breathing 
heavily  from  his  run. 

The  seat  beside  her  had  become  vacant  and 
she  had  placed  her  paper  package  of  white 
goods  on  it.  Now  she  took  it  into  her  lap  and 
crossed  her  arms  over  it.  He  sat  down. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  said. 

"How  do  you  do?" 

They  both  stared  straight  ahead,  not  dar- 
ing at  first  to  look  at  each  other. 

"It's — quite  a  while  since  we — saw  each 
other, ' '  she  ventured  after  a  long  pause. 

"Yes,  quite  a  while,  but — "  he  stopped. 

"But  what?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Then  Georgia,  first  to  regain  control  of 
herself,  laughed,  breaking  the  tension. 
"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  asked. 
"Where  have  you  come  from  and  where  are 
you  going?" 

'  *T  got  in  from  New  York  this  morning  and 
I'm  going  home — that  is,  to  Kansas  City,  this 
evening.  Had  to  see  Cleever  here." 

"Is  everything  going  well  with  you?" 

"Yes,  that  is— yes." 

"Business  good?" 

"Fine." 

282 


Eve 

"Happy?" 

"Oh,  yes — are  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  then  added  "very." 

They  paused.  "Don't  let  me  keep  you  if 
you  have  business,"  she  suggested. 

"I  haven't,"  he  answered. 

He  thought  that  never  in  his  life  had  he 
seen  her  look  so  ill,  but  doubted  how  to  speak 
of  it. 

"You  got  all  over  your  typhoid,  of 
course,"  was  the  way  he  put  it. 

"Oh,  yes,  completely."  She  read  him  as 
usual,  and  saw  what  was  in  his  'mind,  that 
her  appearance  had  shocked  him. 

"Oh,  don't  look  at  me  that  way,  Mason," 
she  exclaimed  suddenly;  "I  know  I've  gone 
off  a  lot,  but  don't  rub  it  in." 

"You're  nothing  of  the  sort.  You  are  a 
bit  fagged  out,  that's  all." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "a  bit  fagged.  Besides, 
I'm  a  staid,  settled-down  old  thing — and  you, 
perhaps  you're  married  by  this  time.  Are 
you?" 

"No." 

"Engaged,  then?"  She  spoke  casually, 
but  there  was  a  beating  at  her  heart. 

"Not  even  that." 

283 


Rebellion 

She  pressed  the  button  for  the  car  to  stop. 
She  had  a  morbid  hope  that  she  might  still 
keep  her  secret  from  him.  But  when  he 
helped  her  off  the  car  and  they  started  to 
walk  toward  her  home,  she  saw  it  in  his  eyes. 

"You  understand  now?"  she  faltered. 

"Yes." 

They  walked  a  hundred  steps  in  silence. 
"Tell  me  one  thing,  Georgia,"  he  said,  "you 
are  happy?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  firmly. 

"That's  all  I  care  about." 

When  they  reached  her  door  he  gave  her 
the  package  of  white  goods  which  he  had  been 
carrying. 

"Georgia,"  he  said,  as  they  shook  hands 
good-bye,  "remember  this — if  you  ever  need 
me,  I'll  come." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  mean  if  you  ever  need  me  I'll  come — 
from  anywhere." 

She  looked  down  at  her  ungainly  figure  in 
wonderment.  "Surely  you  don't  mean  that 
now.  I'm — I'm  so  ridiculous." 

His  voice  choked.  "God  bless  and  keep 
you.  God  bless  and  keep  you  always,  my 
dearest,"  he  said,  then  went  away. 

284 


Eve 

She  walked  slowly  and  heavily  up  to  the 
third  flight,  carrying  her  burden.  When  she 
opened  the  door  with  her  latchkey  she  found 
her  mother  in  blue  gingham  apron,  cleaning 
Mr.  Kane's  room. 

Mrs.  Talbot  paused  in  her  operations. 
"Well,"  she  vouchsafed,  "Jim  has  turned  up 
— just  after  you  left.  He's  asleep  in  your 
room." 

"Drunk?"  asked  Georgia. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Talbot,  emptying 
her  carpet  sweeper. 


285 


XXVII 

THE  NAPHTHALINE  EIVEE 

And  oh,  of  all  tortures 
That  torture  the  worst, 
The  terrible,  terrible  torture  of  thirst 
For  the  naphthaline  river 
Of  Passion  accurst. 

—Poe. 

Jim  was  a  dipsomaniac,  not  a  villian.  His 
vice  made  no  one  else  so  abysmally  wretched 
as  it  made  himself. 

After  each  spree  he  descended  into  the  deep 
hell  of  remorse.  He  thought  of  pistols, 
razors  and  the  lake.  "Would  not  everyone  he 
cared  for  be  the  better  for  his  disappearance  f 
Was  it  not  decenter  to  die  than  to  live  on,  a 
reeking  beast,  a  stenchful  sewer  for  whiskey? 

Then  as  his  long  enduring  body  began  once 
more  patiently  to  expel  the  poison  he  had 
thrust  into  it,  he  slowly  cheered  up.  He 
wouldn't  kill  himself,  he  would  swear  off  for- 
ever and  ever,  so  help  him  God,  amen. 

286 


The  Naphthaline  River 

In  a  few  days  he  was  completely  reassured, 
and  not  a  little  proud  of  his  evident  self- 
control.  He  bragged  of  it  casually.  He  was 
Pharisaical.  He  pitied  drinking  men.  ' l  No, ' ' 
he  would  say,  raising  a  deprecating  hand 
when  invited  to  smile  with  them,  "I've  cut  it 
out  for  good.  I  don't  like  it,  and,"  laughing, 
"it  don't  like  me.  I've  had  enough  in  my 
day  to  keep  up  my  batting  average  for  the 
rest  of  my  life,  and  enough  is  sufficiency.  A 
little  ginger  ale  for  mine,  thank  you." 

And  the  best  of  it  was  that  the  whiskey 
didn't  seem  to  tempt  him  any  more.  It  was 
almost  too  easy,  this  being  good.  Nothing 
to  it,  if  a  fellow  simply  made  up  his  mind. 

Old  Col.  E.  E.  Morse  had  certainly  stam- 
peded him  the  other  morning  when  he  was 
getting  over  his  headache.  He  smiled  a  trifle 
wryly.  Yes,  he'd  actually  gone  so  far  as  to 
contemplate  suicide,  which  was  a  great  sin, 
to  avoid  getting  full,  which  was  a  less  one — 
and  now  here  he  was,  never  feeling  better  in 
his  life  and  not  touching  a  drop. 

The  old  colonel  certainly  did  make  a  goat 
of  a  fellow.  He  had  acted  more  like  a  boy 
than  a  grown-up  man.  The  blood  curdling 
oaths  he'd  taken  with  eyes  and  hands  raised 

287 


Rebellion 

to  heaven,  by  his  mother's  soul  and  his  hope 
of  meeting  her  again.  The  memory  of  his 
hysterical  state  somewhat  embarrassed  him. 

Some  drank  and  some  didn't;  just  as 
some  had  blue  eyes  and  some  brown.  Bis- 
marck and  Grant,  for  instance,  drank.  It 
was  foolish  on  the  face  of  it  to  suppose  that 
those  giants  among  men  were  in  the  habit  of 
lying  awake  nights,  agonizing  over  the  ques- 
tion of  a  glass  of  beer  or  two  with  their  even- 
ing meal.  That  wouldn't  show  they  were 
strong,  but  weak. 

At  this  point  he  dropped  from  his  vocabu- 
lary the  word  "drunk,"  with  its  essentially 
ugly  sound,  and  substituted  "loaded,"  which 
is  pleasanter,  then  "jagged,"  which  is  pleas- 
anter  still,  especially  if  one  humorously 
places  the  accent  on  the  final  ed.  A  further 
alteration  in  his  barroom  terminology  made 
it  stewed,  soused,  plastered,  anointed,  all  lit 
up,  sprung,  ossified. 

When  a  periodical  gets  around  again  to  the 
point  of  calling  intoxication  by  pet  names  his 
next  spiflication  is  not  very  far  ahead  of  him. 

In  gradually  divesting  itself  of  the  hideous 
and  demonic  character  which  he  was  wont  to 
ascribe  to  it  in  the  first  moments  of  his 

288 


The  Naphthaline  River 

passionate  remorse  after  a  debauch,  alcohol 
achieved  the  necessary  preliminary  work 
preparatory  to  his  next  one.  The  curious 
thing  was  that  he  always  realized  in  the  heat 
of  a  new  resolution  precisely  how  the  next 
attack  would  presently  begin  against  him. 

' '  Never  again, "  he  would  say  to  himself, 
" never  again,  Jim  Connor,  if  you're  worth 
the  powder  to  blow  you  to  hell.  Never  again, 
understand!  Never  mind  about  George 
Washington  and  Grover  Cleveland.  You 
quit.  Don't  you  care  if  the  doctors  say  it's 
a  food.  It  isn't  a  food  for  you.  Leave  it 
alone  or  die.  It's  been  your  steady  enemy 
since  you  got  into  long  pants.  Hate  it." 

But  in  spite  of  efforts  that  were  some- 
times gallant  he  could  not  keep  his  hate  hot. 
The  further  he  got  from  his  last  spree,  the 
less  horrible  and  more  amusing  it  seemed  in 
retrospection. 

The  furiously  emotional  character  of  his 
resolution  gradually  cooled  off  and  lost  its 
driving  power. 

Only  near  the  end  of  a  period  of  abstinence 
did  alcohol  make  a  direct  assault  upon  his 
body,  and  even  then  in  skillful  disguise. 
His  digestion  went  back  on  him.  He  would 

289 


Rebellion 

conscientiously  seek  to  fend  off  his  misery 
by  pills,  powders,  salts,  extracts,  soda  and 
charcoal  tablets,  pepsin  gum,  by  giving  up 
smoking,  coffee,  dessert,  by  hot  water  before 
meals  and  brisk  walks ;  but  he  adopted  these 
measures  dispiritedly.  A  still  small  voice 
had  begun  to  whisper  that  they  wouldn't  do 
and  that  only  one  thing  would. 

If  that  one  thing  were  taken  privately  just 
before  supper,  say  downtown  where  the 
crowd  wasn't  around  to  kid  him  for  seeming 
backsliding  and  if  it  were  immediately  fol- 
lowed by  half  a  teaspoonful  of  ground  coffee 
from  the  receptacle  made  and  provided  for 
such  contingencies,  Georgia  would  be  neither 
the  worse  nor  the  wiser  and  he  would  get  his 
appetite  back. 

"Mind,"  said  the  small  voice,  "just  one." 
Why  of  course,  he  quickly  agreed  with  him- 
self, just  one.  That  was  all  he  needed.  He 
didn't  want  the  stuff  for  its  own  sake.  He 
got  no  pleasure  out  of  it.  In  fact  he  rather 
disliked  the  taste  of  it.  But  purely  and 
simply  for  medicine,  as  a  last  resort.  Hadn't 
he  already  tried  every  other  damn  thing  on 
the  market? 

Usually  he  escaped  detection  the  first  day 

290 


The  Naphthaline  River 

or  two  and  went  to  bed  at  night  triumphant 
and  respectable,  his  secret  locked  successfully 
in  his  breast,  excitedly  convinced  that  at  last 
he  had  learned  to  drink  like  a  gentleman. 

Presently  he  sensed  the  need  of  a  more 
exact  definition.  How  many  drinks  did  a 
gentleman  take  a  day?  Two  or  three,  or  even 
more  on  special  occasions  ?  Was  getting  wet 
or  cold  a  special  occasion?  What  was  a 
' '  drink "  anyway — two  fingers,  three,  or  a 
whiskey-glassful?  How  much  beer  equaled 
how  much  spirits  ?  Wasn  't  liquor  mixed  with 
seltzer  less  harmful  to  the  lining  of  the 
stomach  than  the  same  amount  taken 
straight?  It  ought  to  be,  for  a  highball,  ac- 
cording to  test,  averaged  no  more  alcohol 
than  the  light  wines  of  France  and  Italy,  and 
as  was  well  known,  a  drunken  man  was  sel- 
dom seen  over  there.  This  being  indisput- 
able, might  not  one  increase  one's  prescribed 
allowance  of  whiskey  if  one  diluted  it  con- 
scientiously? 

He  never  tired  of  these  and  similar  ques- 
tions. They  fascinated  him  and  centered  his 
consciousness.  His  mind  revolved  around 
the  whiskey  proposition  like  a  satellite 
around  its  principal.  He  might  hate,  loathe, 

291 


Rebellion 

abominate  whiskey,  or  pooh-pooh  it,  or  com- 
promise with  it,  or  succumb  to  it.  But  he 
thought  of  it  most  of  the  time,  endlessly 
readjusting  his  relations  with  it,  like  an  old 
man  in  the  power  of  a  harlot. 

Sometimes  he  would  admit  that  there  was 
much  to  be  said  against  the  cumulative  effect 
of  a  drink  every  day.  Twenty- four  hours 
was  hardly  long  enough  to  get  wholly  rid  of 
the  last  one  before  you  put  the  next  one  in 
on  top  of  it.  Would  it  not,  possibly,  be  more 
advantageous  to  one's  system,  for  instance, 
to  get  a  slight  skate  on  Saturday  night, 
nothing  serious,  a  mere  jolly,  harmless  bun, 
and  cut  it  out  altogether  for  the  rest  of  the 
week,  than  to  go  against  it  daily?  This 
suggestion  usually  presented  itself  early  on 
Saturday  evening,  after  he  had  got  a  good 
start.  After  a  little  argument  pro  and  con, 
the  pros  won. 

The  pros  always  won  without  exception, 
yet  Jim  never  once  neglected  to  go  through 
the  form  of  argument.  It  was  astonishing 
with  what  perfect  regularity  he  repeated 
time  after  time  the  same  mental  sequence  in 
his  circlings  around  whiskey. 

He  did  not  necessarily  lose  his  job  at  each 

292 


The  Naphthaline  River 

spree.  He  was  not  the  explosive  type  of 
drunkard.  He  managed  sometimes  to  drag 
himself  wearily  through  the  motions  of  work 
in  the  day  time,  slipping  out  every  hour  or 
two,  on  some  excuse,  to  "baby  it  along. " 
But  from  night  to  night  his  drunkenness 
would  deepen  until  at  last,  with  his  nerves 
shattered  and  money  gone,  he  stumbled  home 
to  his  women  folk  to  be  nursed,  to  threaten 
suicide,  while  they  telephoned  lies  to  his  em- 
ployer, to  take  his  solemn  pledge,  and  to  be- 
gin his  cycle  over  again. 

Four  times  during  his  wife's  second  preg- 
nancy he  made  the  complete  circle. 

She  put  up  with  his  lapses  more  humbly 
then  ever  before  in  their  married  life.  Each 
time  that  he  renewed  his  pledge  her  sustain- 
ing hope  returned  that  he  would  keep  it  this 
time,  until  at  least  the  baby  was  born  and 
she  was  well  enough  to  return  to  work, 

Then  she  wouldn't  be  afraid  any  more. 
Disencumbered,  her  strength  restored,  she 
would  be  wholly  able  to  take  care  of  herself 
and  her  child.  She  could  earn  two  livings. 
She  knew  precisely  how  to  go  about  it. 
There  was  nothing  haphazard  in  her  plans. 
Either  she  would  promptly  find  another  first 

293 


Rebellion 

class  secretarial  position  or  else  she  would 
go  into  business  on  her  own  hook,  get  a  small 
room  about  eight  feet  by  eight,  at  $1.50  or 
$1.75  a  square  foot,  in  a  big  office  building 
and  put  on  the  door 

G.  CONNOR 

STENOGBAPHEK — COURT  REPORTER 
NOTARY  PUBLIC 

She  could  see  it  in  her  mind's  eye.  It 
looked  fine.  But  it  was  several  months  off 
yet,  slow  months  of  discomfort,  culminating 
in  hours  of  the  acutest  agony  a  human  being 
can  suffer  and  live.  She  knew.  She  had 
been  through  it  once  already. 

But  she  would  never  go  through  it  again, 
after  this  time.  Never.  They  might  say 
what  they  liked  about  race  suicide,  this  was 
the  last  for  her. 

In  the  meantime  she  must  keep  Jim  as 
straight  as  possible  and  get  all  she  could 
out  of  him.  For  presently  there  would  be 
some  heavy  bills  to  pay.  She  kissed  and 
flattered  htm,  and  went  through  his  pockets 
at  night,  racing  the  bartenders  for  his  money. 
Wasn't  a  business  woman  a  big  fool,  she 


294 


The  Naphthaline  River 

often  asked  herself,  to  get  in  this  fix  for  a 
man  she  didn't  lovef 

The   Church — the   Church  took  a  pretty 
theoretical  view  of  some  things. 


xxvin 
ALBERT  TALBOT   CONNOR 

When  her  grandson  was  eight  days  old, 
Mrs.  Talbot  took  him  to  be  baptized.  Georgia, 
not  yet  out  of  bed,  protested  against  the  pre- 
cipitancy, but  her  mother  was  armored  in 
shining  faith  and  prevailed. 

"You  know  your  baby's  sickly,"  she  ex- 
plained, "and  not  doing  well.  We  cannot 
afford  to  take  any  chances — in  case  anything 
happened." 

So  she  dressed  up  the  mite  in  his  best 
white  lace,  and  herself  in  her  best  black  silk 
and  sailed  off  to  church  in  a  closed  carriage. 
He  was  named  Albert  Talbot. 

Until  he  was  brought  back  to  her,  Georgia 
felt  savagely  that  there  was  something 
ridiculously  primitive,  something  almost 
grotesque  in  the  proceeding.  To  take  her 
baby  from  her,  she  could  hear  him  crying 
all  down  stairs,  to  a  church  a  mile  away,  to 
be  breathed  on  by  a  priest  and  touched  with 
spittle  and  anointed  with  oil  and  wetted 

296 


Albert  Talbot  Connor 

with  water — how  could  such  things  make  her 
perfect  babe  more  perfect! 

Why  should  this  naive  physical  rite  send 
her  son  to  Paradise  if  he  died;  and  more 
especially  why  should  the  lack  of  it  bar  him 
out  of  Paradise  forever?  It  was  not  fair  to 
put  such  mighty  conditions  upon  him.  He 
was  only  a  baby. 

"When  young  Albert  was  returned  to  her 
arms  and  her  breast,  she  forgot  her  griev- 
ance. Anyway,  he  was  on  the  safe  side  of 
baptism  now.  It  couldn't  do  him  any  harm 
and  it  might  do  him  an  eternal  and  supreme 
good.  It  was  better  to  take  no  chances  with 
the  supernatural. 

She  asked  the  doctor  when  she  could  wean 
him.  "I  am  behind  in  my  bills,  you  know," 
she  explained,  "especially  yours,  doctor. 
I'd  better  get  to  work." 

"I  can't  conscientiously  advise  you  to  do 
anything  of  the  sort/  he  answered. 

"But  why  not?  Most  babies  are  put  on  a 
bottle  nowadays." 

"This  one  is  a  delicate  little  fellow — not 
five  pounds  at  birth.  You  want  him  to  get 
strong — mother's  milk  is  the  best  medicine." 


297 


Rebellion 

' ' That  settles  it,"  she  said  slowly.  "How 
long  will  it  be?  Six  months?" 

"Yes,  six  months  anyway,  perhaps  more — 
perhaps  a  year.  It  depends  on  how  he  does. 
I  won't  disguise  it  from  you — he's  worried 
me  once  or  twice." 

A  year!  She  didn't  know  a  child  was  ever 
nursed  a  year.  A  year  more  of  humbleness 
to  Jim,  of  asking  money  from  her  brother, 
now  called  big  Al,  of  fear  that  Mr.  Kane 
might  get  annoyed  and  leave,  of  contriving 
and  skimping  and  bill  dodging.  Another 
year  of  "womanly"  womanhood,  clinging  to 
males  for  support. 

The  doctor  saw  her  disappointment.  "It's 
your  sex'  share  of  the  world's  work,  you 
know,"  he  said,  "your  duty  to  society." 

"I  have  a  baby  and  we're  poor.  If  I'd 
had  none,  we'd  be  well  off  this  moment,"  she 
said  sharply.  "If  I  really  have  done  a  duty 
to  society  why  does  society  punish  me  for 
it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  doctor. 

He  came  rather  frequently  to  the  flat  at 
this  time,  partly  on  the  baby's  account, 
partly  on  Mrs.  Talbot's. 

The  river  of  life  in  the  elder  woman  was 

298 


Albert  Talbot  Connor 

becoming  sluggish ;  rheumatism  crippled  her. 
The  doctor  veiled  his  explanation.  "Syno- 
vial  infusion/'  he  called  it,  "hut,"  he  added 
reassuringly,  "pericarditis  is  not  in  the  least 
to  be  apprehended.  I  will  stake  my  reputa- 
tion on  that."  Which  gave  her  new  heart. 

The  rivulet  of  life  in  the  child  trickled  un- 
certainly, obstinately  refusing  to  increase. 
6  '  Hmm, ' '  he  muttered  once,  *  *  micro  cephalic. ' ' 

"What  does  that  mean?"  Georgia  asked 
with  quick  suspicion. 

"It  means  that  he  has  a  rather  small 
head,"  smiled  the  doctor,  "but  then  he  is  a 
rather  small  boy." 

"Yes,  he  is  tiny,  isn't  he?"  said  the  mother 
pressing  him  to  her  soft,  distended  breast. 
' '  Little  one — little  one  of  mine. ' '  She  looked 
at  the  doctor  proudly.  "He  knows  me,"  she 
said,  "don't  you  think  so?" 

"Of  course  he  does,"  he  answered,  and 
she  knew  that  nothing  else  which  had  ever 
been  or  ever  would  be  really  mattered. 

Whenever  the  doctor  came  to  the  flat  he 
found  time  to  tarry  in  the  midst  of  his  busy 
life  of  many  patients  and  small  fees  for  a 
chat  with  Georgia.  He  was  a  happy,  crinkled, 
red  faced,  blue-gilled  little  man,  who  in- 

299 


Rebellion 

evitably  suggested  outdoors,  though  he 
wasn't  there  much,  for  he  drove  a  closed 
electric  runabout.  He  always  meant  some 
day  to  write  a  novel,  a  true  novel,  something 
on  the  order  of  "The  Old  Wives '  Tale," 
showing  people  as  they  really  were.  He 
thought  he  had  the  necessary  information. 
He  had  seen  all  sorts  of  folks  come  and  go 
for  thirty  years.  But  he  never  seemed  to 
get  around  to  the  actual  writing.  He  was  so 
pressed  for  time. 

Georgia  Connor,  nicely  disguised,  would 
be  a  good  character  for  his  book.  Change 
the  color  of  her  hair,  for  instance,  put  a 
couple  of  inches  on  her  height,  make  her 
something  else  but  a  stenographer,  say  a 
cashier — and  neither  she  nor  anybody  else 
would  suspect.  So  he  had  many  little  talks 
with  his  model,  getting  material.  Besides, 
he  liked  her.  She  was  intelligent,  she  never 
bored  him  and  she  always  had  her  own  point 
of  view,  and  half  the  time  an  unexpected 
one.  She  had  been  twice  educated — first  by 
the  convent  and  next  by  the  loop.  One  could 
never  tell  which  side  of  her  was  going  to 
speak  next. 

Eventually  one  side  would  prevail.  Which 

300 


Albert  Talbot  Connor 

it  would  be  depended  on  the  baby  question. 
If  she  had  enough  of  them  tugging  at  her 
skirts  she'd  revert  to  type.  He  knew.  He'd 
seen  'em  come  and  go  for  thirty  years.  Per- 
sistent mothers  don't  aviate. 

When  little  Al  was  a  month  old,  shortly 
after  midnight  on  the  thirteenth  of  Novem- 
ber— she  will  never  forget  the  day — Georgia 
awoke  suddenly  as  if  a  pistol  had  been  shot 
off  by  her  ear.  The  baby  was  wailing  in  a 
feeble  little  singsong.  She  looked  at  the 
clock.  It  wanted  half  an  hour  to  his  feeding 
time. 

She  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the  room, 
whispering  to  her  son.  Sometimes  she 
stopped  at  the  open  window  to  look  out  into 
the  cool  pleasant  night,  but  nothing  she  knew 
how  to  do  made  any  difference.  He  kept 
steadily  on  with  his  heart-breaking  little 
singsong  wail. 

At  one  precisely,  before  the  single  stroke 
of  the  small  clock  had  stopped  ringing 
through  the  room,  she  gave  him  breast.  He 
took  a  little,  then  gasped  and  choked  and 
"spit  it  up"  again.  She  waited  ten  minutes 
as  she  had  been  instructed,  then  gave  him 
a  very  little — not  more  than  three  or  four 

301 


Rebellion 

swallows.  He  rejected  it.  After  twenty 
minutes  she  tried  again.  The  warm,  white 
life-giving  fluid  ran  over  his  lips  and  chin, 
and  trickled  down  his  neck,  wetting  the  neck- 
band and  sleeve  of  his  thin  woolen  garment. 
But  he  kept  a  little  down  she  thought.  And 
then  after  awhile  a  little  more.  She  did  not 
wish  him  to  be  as  far  from  her  as  his  crib, 
so  he  dozed  off  in  the  crook  of  her  elbow, 
while  she  took  short  naps  a  few  minutes  at  a 
time  until  dawn. 

At  five  she  took  in  Mr.  Kane's  coffee.  This 
duty  now  accrued  to  her,  because  the  doctor 
had  warned  Mrs.  Talbot  not  to  overdo. 

When  Georgia  returned  with  her  empty 
tray  she  dropped  into  a  chair  for  just  a 
moment's  rest.  An  hour  later  when  she 
awoke  she  found  little  Al  lying  rigid  on  the 
bed,  his  small  fists  clenched,  his  eyes  rolled 
up  until  only  the  whites  could  be  seen 
through  his  half-closed  lids,  his  under  lip 
sucked  in  between  his  gums.  She  was  not 
sure  that  he  breathed. 

Hastily  she  ran  to  the  bathroom  and 
turned  the  hot  water  tap  on  full.  Hastily 
she  ran  back,  and  took  the  child  in  her  arms. 
She  knocked  at  the  door  of  big  Al's  room. 

302 


Albert  Talbot  Connor 

"Al,"  she  cried,  "Al,  Al,  Al— wake  up." 

"What — eh,  oh,  what?"  came  a  sleepy 
voice. 

"Telephone  the  doctor,  quick,  quick,  quick, 
the  baby  is — Oh,  hurry,  Al." 

She  ran  to  the  bathroom  and  put  her  hand 
in  the  running  stream  from  the  faucet.  Tepid, 
only  tepid.  Would  it  never  get  warm?  If 
God  ever  wanted  anything  more  from  her — 
in  the  way  of  belief  or  devotion — let  Him 
make  this  water  hot,  now,  on  the  instant. 

Her  wet  hand  and  her  dry  one  moved 
rapidly  together  at  her  baby's  clothes,  un- 
pinning the  safety  pins.  Even  in  her  haste 
she  put  them  in  her  mouth  mechanically,  one 
after  another.  Once  more  she  plunged  her 
hand  into  the  water.  Warmer  now,  yes,  al- 
most warm  enough.  She  put  the  round  rub- 
ber stopper  in  the  escape. 

She  lowered  the  stiff  and  naked  little  child 
into  the  tub,  one  hand  behind  his  neck,  the 
other  held  to  shelter  his  face  from  the  spray 
of  the  hot  water  which  was  pouring  from  the 
open  tap. 

Al  stood  at  the  door  in  bare  feet,  his 
trousers  slipped  on  over  his  nightshirt. 


303 


Rebellion 

"D'you  want  the  doctor  to  come  right 
away?"  he  asked. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  haven't  gone 
yet?"  she  said  piteously  without  turning  her 
head  as  she  knelt  by  the  bathtub,  "of  course, 
right  away — now,  this  instant." 

The  young  fellow  departed  on  the  run  for 
the  janitor's  telephone  in  the  basement. 

The  water  had  become  quite  hot,  but  still 
the  child  did  not  relax.  Georgia  tried  to  undo 
one  tiny  fist  with  her  forefinger,  but  she  felt 
with  agony  of  heart  that  it  would  not  un- 
clench easilv.  She  sensed  a  touch  on  her 
shoulder,  then  saw  another  older  hand  put 
in  the  water  behind  the  child's  head. 

"No,  mother,  you  shan't,"  she  said,  "it  is 
my  baby,  leave  him  to  me." 

"Shall  I  ask  Father  Hervey  to  come?" 
said  Mrs.  Talbot. 

Georgia  was  too  intent  to  answer. 

Mrs.  Talbot  walked  slowly  down  stairs, 
stiff  with  rheumatism.  She  met  Al  coming 
up,  four  steps  at  a  time. 

"How  is  he?"  he  shouted  as  he  passed. 
She  turned  to  explain,  but  he  vanished  out 
of  sight  around  the  turn  at  the  landing,  not 
waiting  for  an  answer. 

304 


Albert  Talbot  Connor 

When  she  got  Father  Hervey  on  the  tele- 
phone he  asked  if  she  was  speaking  of  the 
young  child  he  had  baptized  a  month  or  so 
back. 

4  *  Three  weeks  come  Tuesday,''  she  said. 

"Ah,  then  he  has  been  baptized.  That,  at 
least,  is  well." 

1 '  But  Father,  if  you  could  come,  and  pray, 
maybe  it  would  save  his  life  here,  too." 

He  hesitated  but  a  moment.  Truly  there 
was  no  priestly  obligation  to  visit  sick  in- 
fants who  had  already  been  baptized,  when- 
ever their  grandparents  became  excited.  To 
baptize  dying  babies  or  to  administer  the  last 
rites  to  those  who  had  reached  the  age  of 
reason  was  his  duty.  This  was  not.  But  if 
he  did  it,  it  would  be  an  act  of  human  kind- 
ness. 

"I  will  come,"  he  said  over  the  wire,  "at 
once." 


305 


XXIX 

THE  DOCTOR  TALKS 

When  the  doctor  arrived  the  convulsion 
had  passed.  Little  Al  was  lying  in  his  crib, 
asleep,  breathing  easily,  the  snarls  in  his 
nerves  unravelled.  Georgia  explained  what 
had  happened. 

"You  did  just  the  right  thing,"  said  the 
physician. 

"Doctor,"  she  asked  slowly,  "will  he  ever 
be  well?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  well?" 

"I  mean,  when  he  grows  up  will  he  be  as 
strong — and — and  bright  as  other  men?" 

"That  is  impossible  to  answer,  Mrs.  Con- 
nor, without  the  gift  of  prophecy." 

"Don't  put  me  off,"  said  she  staring  at 
him,  "tell  me  the  truth.  I  have  a  right  to 
know." 

"I  should  first  have  to  have  a  little  more 
definite  knowledge  of  his  antecedents,  his 
family  history.  Is  there  anything  which 
might  explain — " 

306 


The  Doctor  Talks 

"Not  on  our  side  of  the  family, "  Mrs.  Tal- 
bot  interrupted  quickly,  "they're  clean  peo- 
ple, every  one." 

"His  father,"  said  Georgia,  "is  a  drunkard 
and  the  son  of  a  drunkard." 

"In  that  case  it  is  possible,  mind  you  I 
only  say  possible,  that  he  has  inherited  a — a 
nervous  tendency." 

"Inherited,  ah,  I  knew.  There  was  some- 
thing in  me  that  warned  me  steadily  not  to 
go  back  to  him.  Something  that  made  me 
shudder  to  think  of  it.  But  at  last  I  gave  in, 
because  everyone  in  the  world  seemed  in  a 
conspiracy  to  make  me. ' ' 

"Yes,"  the  doctor  answered  drily,  "we 
run  into  such  histories  frequently." 

"But,"  she  pleaded  suppliantly,  as  if  he 
had  the  power  to  do  or  undo,  "surely  my 
baby  can  grow  out  of  this — nervous  tendency. 
Tell  me  he  can  grow  out  of  it.  With  the  right 
care  and  training,  surely  he  can  grow  out 
of  it." 

He  placed  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
honesty  seemed  to  her  to  be  patent  and  ap- 
parent in  his  voice.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "it  is 
possible,  it  is  probable.  I  have  seen  many  a 
mother  make  her  child  over  with  love." 

307 


Rebellion 

"Ah,  that's  all  I  want,"  she  gave  a  happy 
little  sigh,  "for  I  can  do  what  they  have 
done." 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Talbot 
opened  it  and  Father  Hervey  came  in. 
"Oh,"  she  said,  "Father,  the  baby's  well 
again.  I  shouldn't  have  bothered  you." 

"I'm  glad  for  once  it's  an  occasion  for 
rejoicing, ' '  he  said  quietly.  '  '  Good  morning, 
doctor." 

"Good  morning,  Father.  Was  the  poor 
fellow  long  after  I  left?" 

"About  half  an  hour." 

"Were  you  at  a  deathbed  last  night,  you 
two?"  asked  Georgia. 

"Yes,  Georgia,  we  were,"  said  the  priest. 

"It  seems  somehow  strange,"  she  pond- 
ered, "that  you  two,  so  different,  should  be 
called  together  at  the  end." 

"Oh,  it  happens  often  enough,"  explained 
the  doctor.  "Poor  people.  They  want  to 
keep  them  here  a  little  longer,  and  the  priest 
to  bid  them  Godspeed  in  case  they've  got  to 
go." 

"It  must  be  terrible,"  reflected  Mrs.  Tal- 
bot, "to  die  without  a  priest." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  doctor,  "Catholics 

308 


The  Doctor  Talks 

have  the  best  of  us  there.  They  always  go 
hopefully,  and  they're  the  only  ones  that  do. 
I've  sometimes  wished  that  I  could  accept  the 
faith,  but — "  he  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Why  can't  you?"  said  Georgia  quickly. 
Father  Hervey  smiled.  He  and  the  doctor 
were  trusted  friends.  There  was  no  poach- 
ing on  each  other's  preserves. 

"Do  you  honestly  believe  in  a  future  life?" 
she  asked  again,  staring  at  the  man  of  science 
with  her  peculiar  little  wide-eyed  stare. 

1 '  Yes,  I  believe  all  of  us  here  will  probably 
have  it — except  perhaps  Father  Hervey. ' ' 

"Well,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Talbot  most  in- 
dignantly, "I  must  say  you've  no  call  to  be 
disrespectful.  If  any  of  us  is  certain  to  have 
it,  it's  him." 

"Oh,  that's  one  of  his  little  jokes,"  he 
said,  "he  means  the  rest  of  you'll  likely  leave 
children  behind  you  to  be  carrying  your  liv- 
ing eyes  and  nose  and  mouth  about  the  earth 
long  after  the  headstones  are  atop  of  you — 
and  that's  denied  me." 

"If  they'd  been  denied  me,"  its  chronic 
undertone  of  humor  momentarily  leaving  the 
doctor's  voice,  "or  were  taken  now — I'd  just 
as  soon  quit.  I've  four;  one's  learning  to 

309 


Rebellion 

crawl,  one  to  walk,  one  to  read  and  the  old- 
est, "  lie  made  a  vain  effort  to  conceal  his 
pride  in  such  a  son,  "Oh — he's  a  boy.  He 
can  work  his  mother  as  easy  as  grease  with  a 
sore  throat  story  whenever  he  wants  to  stay 
out  of  school.  Pretty  clever,  eh,  with  a  doctor 
right  in  the  family?  He'll  be  a  great  bunco 
steerer — or  a  great  lawyer — some  day  and 
make  his  name — he's  a  junior — bristle  in  the 
headlines  of  1950.  That's  the  real  life  after 
death — our  blood  lives  on,  we  don't." 

"Yes,"  said  Georgia  tenderly  glancing  at 
the  crib,  "our  blood  lives  on,  it  lives  on." 

"When  a  little  shop  girl  takes  the  boat  over 
to  St.  Joe, ' '  said  the  medical  man,  folding  his 
arms,  well  started  on  his  favorite  eugenics, 
"she  may  be  preparing  a  blend  that  will  en- 
dure as  long  as  the  race — ten  thousand  or 
one  hundred  thousand  years,  while  any  of 
the  descendants  are  alive.  Marriage — true 
marriage,  where  children  grow  up  and  beget 
others — outlasts  death  by  centuries,  perhaps 
eons."  He  paused  to  let  it  sink  in.  "What- 
ever else  there  may  be  in  addition,"  he  said, 
bowing  slightly  in  the  direction  of  the  priest, 
"this  much  is  certain  true — in  our  children 
we  find  immortality. ' ' 

310 


The  Doctor  Talks 

"Yes,"  said  Georgia  softly,  looking  at  the 
crib  where  lay  her  child,  "in  our  children 
there  is  immortality.  My  sweet  little  lamb," 
she  whispered,  going  to  her  child,  "my 
sweet — "  her  voice  changed  suddenly,  grow- 
ing very  harsh.  "Doctor,"  she  said,  "come 
here." 

The  doctor  placed  his  ear  to  the  child's 
heart,  then  took  his  stethoscope  from  his 
satchel  to  listen  for  the  least  fluttering.  He 
heard  none.  As  he  straightened  up  again, 
she  saw  his  answer  in  his  face. 

"Is— he— dead!"  she  asked. 

"Yes."  He  spoke  to  the  priest.  "I  will 
come  this  afternoon,  in  case  I  can  be  of  any 
use,"  he  whispered,  and  quietly  withdrew. 

The  priest  sprinkled  the  small  dead  body 
with  holy  water.  Mrs.  Talbot  and  Al  fell  on 
their  knees,  but  Georgia  stood.  She  was  un« 
able  to  kneel  to  a  God  who  had  done  that. 
The  priest  prayed,  half  murmuring.  Then  in 
a  louder  voice  he  said,  "As  for  me,  Thou  hast 
received  me  because  of  mine  innocence." 

"And  hast  set  me  before  Thy  face  for- 
ever," muttered  Mrs.  Talbot,  who  knew  the 
response.  Al  was  silent,  for  he  was  not  sure 


311 


Rebellion 

of  the  words.  Georgia  stood  dumb,  watching 
her  child  with  her  wide-eyed  little  stare. 

"The  Lord  be  with  thee — "  came  the  deep 
musical  voice  of  the  priest. 

"And  with  thy  spirit, "  muttered  Mrs. 
Talbot. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  came 
a  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  repeated  twice, 
imperatively. 

Then  the  door  was  opened  from  outside 
and  Carl  Schroeder,  president  of  the  Fortieth 
"Ward  Club,  entered,  half  carrying  and  half 
guiding  Jim  Connor,  who  was  stupidly  drunk. 

Schroeder  placed  Jim  in  a  chair  and 
quickly  slunk  out.  Jim  swayed  an  instant  in 
the  chair,  trying  to  hold  his  balance,  then  fell 
forward  out  of  it.  His  hand  struck  the  crib 
as  he  lay  inert,  unknowing,  obscene. 

Georgia  looked  at  him  for  an  instant,  she 
began  to  giggle,  to  laugh.  Her  laughter  grew 
louder  and  louder.  It  came  in  waves,  each 
wilder  and  higher  than  the  last. 

It  was  long  before  they  could  quiet  her. 


312 


I 


XXX 

FRANKLAND  &  CONNOR 

Georgia  and  Jim  Connor  parted  at  the 
cemetery  gate  after  the  burial  of  their  son. 
They  have  not,  since  then,  seen  each  other. 

Exclusive  of  her  debt  to  Stevens,  Georgia 
owed  more  than  two  hundred  dollars,  nearly 
half  of  which  was  for  the  funeral.  Mrs.  Tal- 
bot  had  ordered  eight  carriages. 

Big  Al  behaved  very  well,  turning  in  every- 
thing beyond  carfare  and  lunch  money  for 
several  weeks.  Then  he  relaxed  to  the  extent 
of  five  bright  neckties  and  a  pair  of  pointed 
patent  leathers.  But  on  the  whole  he  was  a 
very  good  boy,  and  Georgia  told  him  so. 

Her  own  wardrobe  was  in  no  condition  for 
effective  job-hunting.  "Old  faithful,"  the 
tan  suit,  once  the  pride  of  her  heart  and  the 
queen  of  her  closet,  had  dated  beyond  hope. 
Time  had  robbed  the  tan,  not  so  much  of 
substance  as  of  essence,  of  smartness  and 
caste. 

313 


Rebellion 

The  models  of  Paris  hadn't  worn  a  six 
yard  pleated  skirt  for  three  years.  So 
Georgia  couldn't  either,  without  proclaiming 
to  her  kind  that  she  was  either  green  or 
broke. 

As  for  the  blue  serge,  that  was  out  of  the 
question  too,  because  it  was  simply  worn  out. 
She  bought  a  black  broadcloth  coat  and  skirt 
that  fitted  wonderfully,  as  if  they  had  been 
made  for  her,  and  a  half  dozen  ruffled  shirt 
waists.  To  these  she  added  a  severe  black 
toque  and  low  laced  shoes.  The  total  outlay 
ran  to  eighty-five  dollars,  but  she  considered 
it  essentially  a  business  investment,  as  no 
doubt  it  was. 

She  was  pale,  and  her  face  had  grown  thin, 
which  made  her  big  eyes  seem  bigger.  Her 
heavy  black  hair  worn  low  on  her  forehead 
accentuated  her  pallor.  She  was  what  is  fre- 
quently termed  ' l  interesting  looking. ' '  At  all 
events  many  people  on  the  street  were  inter- 
ested enough  to  turn  and  look  again. 

She  clung  to  the  idea  of  an  office  of  her  own 
some  day,  but  because  of  the  impracticability 
of  starting  business  with  a  capital  of  five 
hundred  dollars  less  than  nothing,  concluded 
to  begin  as  assistant  to  some  already  estab- 

314 


Frankland  &  Connor 

lished  stenographer.  Thus,  she  could  learn 
the  game,  make  acquaintances,  get  a  follow- 
ing. Then  when  it  was  time  to  take  the 
plunge,  it  would  be  simple  enough  to  circu- 
larize this  trade  and  switch  at  least  part  of 
it  over  to  herself  from  her  former  employer. 

She  went  up  and  down  in  many  elevators 
and  through  many  ground-glass  doors  in  her 
hunt  for  work.  One  prosperous-looking, 
buxom,  extreme  blonde  of  thirty  -  eight, 
dressed  a  coquettish  twenty-five,  paid  her  a 
compliment. 

" Listen,7'  she  said  in  a  stage  whisper, 
motioning  to  Georgia  with  a  stubby  forefinger 
to  bend  her  head  nearer,  "listen.  I  wouldn't 
hire  you  for  a  dollar  a  week."  She  laughed 
merrily.  "You're  too  much  of  a  doll-baby 
yourself. ' ' 

Georgia  noted  that  the  blonde  lady's  two 
assistants,  hammering  away  in  the  dark 
inside  corners  of  the  room,  were  without 
menace,  sallow  and  flat-chested. 

In  a  small  suite  in  the  newest,  highest- 
rented  building  in  town,  she  found  three  tall, 
thin  young  men,  apparently  brothers.  They 
were  all  very  busy,  writing  by  touch,  their 
eyes  fixed  steadily  on  their  notes.  She  spoke 

315 


Rebellion 

to  the  nearest,  but  his  flying  fingers  did  not 
even  pause  for  her.  "No  women, "  he  re- 
plied succinctly. 

Many  of  the  public  stenographers  had  no 
employes ;  few  more  than  one.  Georgia  found 
several  places  where  they  had  just  hired  a 
girl.  Apparently  it  was  nowhere  near  so  easy 
to  find  a  place  where  they  had  just  fired  one. 
It  was  getting  discouraging. 

But  her  luck  turned  at  the  sign  of  L.  Frank- 
land,  room  1241,  the  Sixth  National  Building. 
1241  had  a  single  narrow  window  which  gave 
upon  eight  hundred  others  in  the  tall  rec- 
tangular court.  The  room  was  not  strategi- 
cally desirable  because  there  was  another 
stenographic  office  between  it  and  the  elevator 
bank.  Georgia  felt  sure  she  had  seen  L. 
Frankland  before,  but  couldn't  just  place  her. 

' i  Do  you  need  help  f  I  am  an  expert  stenog- 
rapher. "  That  was  her  formula. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  came  the  wholly  surprising 
answer.  Georgia  promptly  sat  down. 

"But,"  continued  L.  Frankland,  "I  cannot 
afford  to  pay  for  it." 

Georgia  rose.  "In  that  case,"  she  said 
stiffly,  "good-day." 


316 


Frankland  &  Connor 

"Why  not,"  suggested  L.  Frankland,  "go 
in  with  me  as  partner! " 

"Partner — that  would  be  fine — but  I 
haven't  any  money." 

"Neither  have  I — and  I'll  be  turned  out  of 
here  a  week  from  to-morrow  if  I  haven't 
twenty- seven  fifty  by  then.  That's  how  much 
I'm  behind."  She  smiled  cheerfully.  Then 
Georgia  remembered  her.  She  was  the  nice 
old  maid  who  had  given  her  the  seat  in  the 
car  on  the  day  she  had  met  Mason. 

"What's  your  rent?" 

"Twenty-seven  fifty." 

"What  arrangements  do  you  want  to 
make!" 

"Fifty-fifty  on  everything." 

"I'll  take  a  chance,"  said  Georgia,  remov- 
ing her  hat.  "But,"  she  exclaimed,  looking 
around,  "why  you've  only  got  one  machine — 
and  a  double  keyboard  at  that.  I'm  not  used 
to  them." 

"We  can  rent  another  for  a  dollar  a  week 
—  any  sort  you  want,"  L.  Frankland  sug- 
gested with  ready  resource. 

"We  can't  get  it  here  to-day.  Let's  see, 
Miss,  Miss  ah  —  what  is  your  name?"  They 


317 


Rebellion 

told  each  other.  "Miss  Frankland,  are  you 
a  fast  writer f  " 

"No,"  she  answered,  composedly  rattling 
off  a  few  test  lines  —  "Now  is  the  time  for  all 
good  men  to  come  to  the  aid  of  their  party." 
It  was  true  enough.  She  was  slow. 

"How  much  work  do  you  get?" 

"Four  ten-cent  letters  and  a  short  brief 
this  morning.  That's  all  to-day." 

"What's  the  idea  now  —  wait!"  asked 
Georgia,  taking  off  her  coat  and  leaning 
against  the  solitary  desk. 

' '  Yep  —  like  young  lawyers. ' ' 

6 1  No  use  our  both  waiting  with  one  machine 
between  us.  I  tell  you  what  —  you  go  over 
to  the  Standard  Company,  on  Wabash  Ave- 
nue, and  order  a  number  four  sent  here,  then 
traipse  around  to  some  other  public  offices— 
you  can  find  plenty  in  the  back  of  the  tele- 
phone book — and  see  if  they  won't  sublet  us 
some  of  their  work  at  half  rates.  I'll  hold 
down  the  place,  and  get  the  hang  of  this  key- 
board while  you're  gone." 

L.  Frankland  saluted.  "Aye,  aye,  ma'am," 
said  she.  "I  likewise  do  now  promote  you  to 
be  captain  of  this  brig." 


318 


Frankland  &  Connor 

When  she  returned  she  brought  a  sheaf,  the 
manuscript  of  a  drama. 

Georgia  knocked  it  out  in  twenty-four 
hours,  in  triplicate,  and  took  it  back  to  the 
firm  of  origin  in  the  Opera  House  Block. 
"Z.  &  Z. — Theatrical  Typists"  was  the  sign 
on  the  door. 

The  room  was  small,  and  thick  with  smoke. 
There  must  have  been  a  dozen  men  in  it,  all 
important-looking.  Mr.  Zingmeister,  the 
senior  partner,  a  fat  young  Hebrew,  received 
Georgia's  work. 

"Botten,"  he  said,  glancing  through  it. 

"Why!"  she  asked  sharply. 

4  *  Wrong  spacing.  A  script  plays  a  minute 
to  the  page  if  typed  right.  How  could  anyone 
tell  how  long  this  would  play?"  He  held  it 
up  between  two  fingers,  contemptuously. 

' '  Give  me  a  sample  act  for  a  guide  and  I  '11 
do  it  over  for  nothing." 

He  hesitated.  "Too  many  novices  in  this 
profession  already,"  he  grumbled. 

"My  time's  up,"  said  she,  reaching  for  her 
work.  "If  you  don't  want  to  pay  me  for  it, 
I'll  take  it  back." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  it. 

"Come,  come,"  said  she,  impatiently. 

319 


Rebellion 

"Oh,  keep  your  shirt  on  while  I  think  it 
over/'  he  answered.  "All  right,  do  it  over 
again  and  do  it  right/'  he  sighed  plaintively, 
"and  space  it  this  way.  Speeches  solid.  Drop 
two  for  character's  name.  Capitalize  them — 
caps,  understand  ! — with  red  underlines.  Also 
red  underline  the  business,  so." 

He  demonstrated  with  a  spoiled  page  from 
the  waste  basket. 

"That'll  give  you  the  code,  understand," 
he  concluded,  shoving  it  in  her  hand.  "Now 
shake  a  foot." 

The  important-looking  beings  in  the  room 
apparently  neither  saw  nor  heard.  Save  for 
the  clouds  of  smoke  that  issued  from  them 
they  might  have  been  graven. 

When  she  got  back  to  1241  she  was  bursting 
with  an  idea. 

"How  long  does  your  lease  run,  Miss 
Frankland?"  she  asked. 

"Until  May  first." 

"You  can't  get  out  of  it?" 

"No,  I  signed  up." 

"Well,  if  we  don't  pay  our  rent  they'll  put 
us  out."  It  proved  to  be  a  prophecy. 

Frankland  &  Connor  found  a  bigger  room 
for  sixteen  a  month  in  the  theatrical  district, 

320 


Frankland  &  Connor 

which  for  some  unexplained  reason  converges 
from  three  sides  upon  the  Court  House.  They 
described  themselves  as  "experts  in  theat- 
rical work,"  and  presently  they  were. 

They  learned  to  give  a  dramatic  criticism 
with  each  receipted  bill.  The  play  they  had 
just  transcribed  was  deeply  moving,  especial- 
ly in  the  big  scene,  or  one  long  roar,  sure-fire. 
Playwrights  were  as  thick  as  July  blackber- 
ries and  the  firm  prospered. 

Occasionally  Georgia  sat  up  most  of  the 
night  with  a  scared  author  and  an  impatient 
stage  director,  altering  the  script  of  a  play 
after  it  had  flivvered  on  the  opening,  and  get- 
ting out  new  parts  for  it. 

At  first,  she  and  L.  Frankland  found  them- 
selves forced  into  overtime  almost  every  even- 
ing, because  the  theatrical  people  were  invar- 
iably in  such  a  raging  hurry  to  get  their  work 
done,  vast  enterprises  apparently  hanging 
upon  the  rapid,  if  not  the  immediate,  comple- 
tion thereof.  With  growing  experience,  how- 
ever, the  firm  learned  to  promise  impossibil- 
ities for  the  sake  of  peace,  but  not  to  attempt 
them. 

When  the  orders  came  in  faster  than  they 
could  handle  them,  Frankland  &  Connor 

321 


Rebellion 

jobbed  them  out  again  at  fifty  per  cent. 
Georgia  had  three  or  four  private  stenograph- 
ers on  her  list  who  were  glad  to  pick  up  a  lit- 
tle pin  money  on  their  employers'  machines 
after  hours.  Perhaps  in  hours,  too.  She 
didn't  know  or  care. 

At  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth  she  had  paid 
off  her  debts,  except  the  one  to  Mason,  on 
which  she  sent  interest. 

She  was  also  able  to  employ  a  woman  to 
help  her  mother  with  the  housework  two  af- 
ternoons a  week. 

Early  in  the  firm's  second  year  of  existence, 
L.  Frank!  and  came  in  one  Monday  morning 
with  a  long  face,  a  rare  thing  for  her. 

"I  want  to  make  a  change,"  she  said,  "I'm 
not  satisfied.  I've  been  thinking  it  over.  This 
isn't  an  impulse." 

"A  change?" 

"Yes." 

Georgia  was  genuinely  distressed,  because 
she  had  grown  very  fond  of  Miss  Frankland. 
There  was  no  more  cheerful  person  in  the 
world,  she  thought,  than  this  dry,  twinkling 
old  maid.  And  she  had  hoped  her  feeling  was 
returned.  Eeal  friendships  were  too  rare  to 
be  tossed  away  so  suddenly. 

322 


Frankland  &  Connor 

"I'm  not  satisfied, "  repeated  L.  Frankland, 
"because  the  present  deal  between  us  isn't 
fair.  You've  pulled  the  big  half  of  the  load 
ever  since  we  started — so,  give  me  a  third  in- 
terest instead  of  a  half — I'd  be  better  pleased, 
honest  Injun,  hope  to  die." 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Frank,  and  get  to  work.  I've 
no  time  for  foolishness,"  responded  Georgia, 
much  relieved.  "Fifty-fifty  it  started  and 
fifty-fifty  it  sticks." 

Which  it  did. 


323 


XXXI 

THE  STODGY  MAN 

Mrs.  Talbot  was  beginning  to  break.  Her 
bones  ached  barometrically  before  rain;  she 
noticed  that  after  she  had  been  on  her  feet 
a  great  deal,  on  cleaning  days  for  instance, 
her  ankles  began  to  puff.  Also  she  learned 
to  avoid  short  breath  by  taking  the  stairs 
more  easily.  Sometimes  she  grew  dizzy  and 
little  black  specks  floated  before  her  eyes. 

Fortunately  she  regarded  her  symptoms 
as  a  series  of  disconnected,  unrelated  phe- 
nomena. The  heart  was  one  thing,  the  liver 
another,  rheumatism  a  third.  Swollen  joints 
were  still  different.  That  came  from  over- 
doing. For  different  diseases  different 
remedies.  She  took  her  medicine  very  con- 
scientiously, treating  her  symptoms,  not  her 
annodomini. 

She  thought  of  her  children  as  young,  not 
of  herself  as  old.  She  wasn't  sixty  yet,  just 
the  time  when  people  learn  at  last  to  profit 
by  experience — the  same  age  as  most  of  the 

324 


The  Stodgy  Man 

people  she  knew,  Mrs.  Conway,  for  instance, 
and  Mrs.  Schweppe,  Mrs.  Keough  and  Mrs. 
Cochrane. 

The  last  two  had  recently  been  the  victims 
of  a  sad  and  striking  coincidence.  They  had 
lost  their  husbands  within  twenty-four  hours 
of  each  other,  in  the  preceding  February,  on 
the  seventh  and  eighth  of  the  month  as  Mrs. 
Talbot  recalled  it,  anyway  it  was  of  a  Tues- 
day and  Wednesday.  Dan  Keough,  to  be 
sure,  had  been  ailing  some  time,  but  it  would 
have  been  a  day's  journey  to  find  a  heartier 
looking  man  than  Jerry  Cochrane,  up  to  the 
very  day  he  came  home  coughing.  And  a 
week  after,  they  laid  him  out. 

They  say  a  green  Christmas  makes  a  fat 
churchyard,  and  goodness  knows  last  win- 
ter proved  it.  It  had  been  very  wet  and 
sloppy,  hardly  any  snow  at  all  until  January, 
and  then  it  didn't  last  long.  She  had  fol- 
lowed the  hearse  to  Calvary  one,  two,  three, 
four  times  in  a  twelvemonth.  The  climate 
had  lately  changed  for  the  worse.  She  could 
remember  when  all  the  Christmases  were 
white  and  didn't  use  to  kill  people. 

The  first  time  that  Georgia  suggested  giv- 
ing up  housekeeping,  mama  vehemently  re- 

325 


Rebellion 

pudiated  the  idea.  The  third  time  she  agreed 
to  it,  but  on  one  sole  condition,  namely,  that 
the  change  was  to  be  only  temporary.  They 
were  to  take  another  flat  as  soon  as  she  got 
to  feeling  more  like  herself  again. 

The  family  moved  to  the  parlor  floor  of  a 
long  and  narrow  gray  block  house  farther 
north.  What  had  been  designed,  in  1880,  for 
the  front  parlor  was  now  the  living  room  of 
the  suite.  Georgia  put  a  piano  in  it,  and  Al 
a  rack  of  bulldog  pipes  and  a  row  of  steins, 
like  college  men.  The  back  parlor  became 
Mrs.  Talbot's  room,  the  dining  room 
Georgia's,  and  Al  took  the  small  one  in  the 
rear,  overlooking  the  back  yard. 

The  meals  were  served,  7  to  8:30,  1  to  2, 
6  to  7,  in  the  half-basement  immediately 
under  the  front  parlor.  They  were  standard- 
ized— corned  beef  Thursday,  fish  Friday, 
roast  beef  Saturday,  chicken  Sunday.  Mrs. 
Talbot  and  her  children  had  their  own  private 
table,  and  they  gave  her  the  best  seat  with 
her  back  to  the  window,  as  titular  head  of  the 
family.  They  had  an  arrangement  that  the 
young  folks  were  never  to  be  away  from  sup- 
per at  the  same  time  and  leave  mama  alone. 

Georgia  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  not 

326 


The  Stodgy  Man 

now  and  then  accept  an  invitation  from  some 
man  or  other  to  dine  and  go  to  the  theatre, 
provided  she  had  sized  him  up  for  a  decent 
sort.  She  always  made  the  condition,  though, 
that  she  would  provide  the  theatre  seats, 
which  she  usually  managed  to  do  inex- 
pensively, owing  to  her  acquaintance  with 
advance  men  and  agents  in  a  rush  to  get 
their  Sunday  flimsies  written. 

At  intervals  she  received  an  avowal  which 
flattered  her  sufficiently,  if  made  well.  And 
she  had  plenty  of  hints  that  she  might  evoke 
a  declaration  without  any  serious  difficulty. 

But  she  had  very  little  trouble  in  keeping 
men  where  she  wanted  them,  for  she  had  the 
faculty  of  knowing  what  they  were  going  to 
think  before  they  thought  it. 

A  young,  pink-cheeked,  country  lawyer 
lately  moved  in  from  Iowa,  and  famous  there 
as  a  stump  orator,  gave  her  the  biggest  sur- 
prise. She  liked  him ;  she  appreciated  he  had 
real  brains.  But  on  the  very  first  evening 
that  they  ever  went  anywhere  together,  when 
he  was  driving  her  home  from  the  play,  he 
became  suddenly  and  violently  obsessed  with 
the  idea  that  a  taxicab  was  liberty  hall. 
After  a  few  seconds '  struggle,  she  rapped  on 

327 


Rebellion 

the  window,  made  the  chauffeur  stop,  and 
went  home  in  the  car  after  a  few  pat  words 
to  her  host. 

There  came  from  him  next  morning  by 
special  messenger  sixteen  closely  and  cleverly 
written  pages,  which  started  with  a  graceful 
and  humble  expression  of  contrition  and 
ended  with  an  offer  of  marriage. 

The  messenger  was  to  wait  an  answer.  He 
didn't  have  to  wait  long.  She  at  once  ac- 
cepted the  apology  and  rejected  the  proposal. 

She  admitted  frankly  that  as  a  rule  she 
liked  men  much  better  than  women  (except, 
of  course,  L.  Frankland).  They  had  a  bigger 
outlook.  But  she  didn't  want  and  wouldn't 
have  even  the  mildest  sort  of  a  flirtation. 

She  thought  it  would  be  cheap  and 
cowardly  and  absurd,  after  murdering  real 
love  as  she  had  done,  to  philander  across  its 
grave. 

When  at  last  she  was  able  to  pay  back 
Mason's  loan  in  full,  with  accumulated  in- 
terest, she  was  surprised  to  find  how  little 
happier  it  made  her.  For  nearly  three  years 
she  had  lived  with  her  debt  on  the  assumption 
that  it  was  life's  most  insupportable  burden. 
Now  that  it  was  settled,  she  began  to  realize 

328 


The  Stodgy  Man 

that  she  had  entertained  the  angel  of  success 
in  disguise.  The  debt  had  been  her  most 
dynamic  inspiration. 

The  man  she  loved  had  borrowed  to  lend 
to  her.  Quite  possibly  in  so  doing  he  had 
saved  her  life.  In  return  she  had  broken  her 
promise  to  marry  him.  Immediately  he  had 
begun  to  prosper  and  she  to  fall  on  evil  days. 
Pride  could  not  be  more  humiliated.  To  save 
her  face  before  him,  it  was  absolutely  indis- 
pensable for  her  to  prosper  also  in  her  turn, 
by  her  own  will  and  skill ;  to  pay  him  off  to 
the  last  accumulated  mill  of  interest ;  to  prove 
to  him  that  she  had  done  as  well  without  him 
as  he  had  done  without  her;  to  make  him 
know  that  she  was  very,  very  happy  and 
content. 

When  her  hopes  came  true  and  she  en- 
larged her  quarters  and  took  a  third  assistant 
and  opened  a  checking  account,  and  alter- 
nated Saturdays  off  with  L.  Frankland; 
when  her  hopes  came  true  they  weren't  hopes 
any  more,  but  history.  For  anyone  with  the 
gambler's  instinct,  and  Georgia  had  more 
than  a  little  of  it,  yesterday  is  a  dull  affair 
compared  with  to-morrow. 

It  gives  one  a  mighty  respectable  feeling 

329 


Rebellion 

to  have  the  receiving  teller  smile  and  say, 
4 1  What — you — again  1 ' '  when  you  come  to  his 
window.  Then  he  writes  a  new  total  in  your 
book  in  purple  ink  and  you  peek  at  it  once 
or  twice  on  your  way  back  to  the  office. 

Yes,  success  was  very  sweet  and  creditable. 
It  did  away  with  a  heap  of  worry  around  the 
first  of  the  month;  any  woman  is  happier 
for  not  having  to  make  last  year's  suit  do; 
and  people  are  certainly  more  polite. 
Money's  the  oil  of  life.  But  it  isn't  life. 

If  you're  only  thirty,  and  the  dollar's  all 
you  want,  or  get — Georgia  leaned  back  in  her 
pivot  chair  and  stretched  her  arms  above  her 
head  and  yawned,  ho-ho-hum,  the  stodgy 
man  will  get  you  if  you  don't  watch  out. 

" Frank,"  she  asked,  "do  you  ever  feel 
like  an  automaton  that's  been  wound  up  and 
has  to  keep  going  till  it  runs  down?" 

"Sure.    Everybody  does,  now  and  then." 

"But  what's  the  use?  what's  the  answer?" 
continued  Georgia  querulously. 

L.  Frankland  looked  over  her  spectacles 
and  her  shoulder,  her  hands  still  on  the  key- 
board. "The  answer,"  she  said  vivaciously, 
'  '  for  a  woman  is  a  man ;  for  a  man  the  answer 
is  a  woman.  Whoever  made  us  knew  what 

330 


The  Stodgy  Man 

he  was  about,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  What's 
your  idea?" 

" Let's  hear  yours  out  first." 

".Once  when  I  was  a  young  thing,"  said  L. 
Frankland,  swinging  around,  "  I  waited  for 
an  hour  in  my  wedding  dress,  but — he  never 
came.  He  was  killed  on  the  way  to  the  church 
by  a  runaway  horse.  I  decided  to  remain  true 
to  his  memory.  I  had  other  chances  after- 
wards, when  I  was  still  a  young  thing,"  she 
smiled  whimsically,  "but  I  refused  them. 
I'm  sorry  now." 

"Frank,  you  remember  my  telling  you 
about  that  money  I  owed  to  the  man  I — spoke 
about?" 

"Yes." 

"And  how  it  worried  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  paid  it  off  last  week,  and  I've 
been  miserable  ever  since." 

"That's  because  you  felt  you  were  snap- 
ping the  last  thread.  Is  he  still  in  love  with 
you?" 

"No.  At  least  I  don't  see  how  he  could 
be.  It's  been  so  long,  and  the  last  time  he 
saw  me,"  Georgia  laughed  unhappily,  "I 
wasn't  very  lovely." 

331 


Rebellion 

"If  he  saw  you  now,  young  lady,  he'd  have 
nothing  to  complain  of,"  was  the  cheerful 
retort.  "By  the  way,  has  he  sent  you  a  re- 
ceipt for  the  money?" 

"No,  not  yet." 

"The  best  sign  in  the  world,"  said  Lu 
Frankland,  slapping  her  knee  excitedly. 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  shows  he's  thinking  about  it. 
It's  not  routine  to  him.  Georgia,  if  you  have 
another  chance  given  you,  don't  be  afraid  to 
take  life  in  your  own  hands,"  the  old  maid 
said  gently, l  i  if  you  know  that  you  love  him. ' ' 

"I  have  always  known  that,  since  the  be- 
ginning, ' '  the  young  woman  answered  slowly, 
"but  even  if  by  a  miracle  he  still — does,  it 
is  too  late  now.  I've  taken  three  of  the  best 
years  of  my  life  away  from  him  and  wasted 
them,  thrown  them  away.  You  know  how 
it  is  with  us  women.  We  have  only  twenty 
years  or  so  when  men  really  want  us.  More 
than  half  of  mine  are  gone.  It  wouldn't  be 
fair  to  go  to  him  now.  He  should  marry  a 
young  girl.  He  is  a  young  man." 

"You've  wasted  a  lot  of  time  already,  and 
to  make  up  for  it  you'll  waste  the  rest. 


332 


The  Stodgy  Man 

That's  supreme  logic.  And  yet,"  with  heavy 
sarcasm,  "man  says  we  can't  reason." 

Georgia  smiled  at  her  friend's  earnestness. 
"Oh,  I'm  in  the  rut,  Frank.  What's  the  use 
of  talking  any  more  about  me?  Come  on  to 
lunch.  The  girls,"  she  nodded  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  three  employes  in  the  outer  of- 
fice, "can  hold  the  fort  for  an  hour.  There 
isn't  much  doing." 

When  their  meal  was  finished  they  matched 
for  the  check,  and  L.  Frankland  was  stuck. 
"Do  one  thing  anyway,"  she  said  as  she 
swept  up  her  change,  minus  a  quarter,  "get 
your  divorce.  Then  you  can  marry  him 
straight  off,  if  he  asks  you  again — and  you 
change  your  mind.  You  wouldn't  like  to  go 
through  all  that  rigmarole  under  his  eyes, 
while  he  was  standing  by,  waiting." 

"No — I  guess  I  won't  bother.  What's  the 
use?  I  won't  change  my  mind.  Here  I  be 
and  here  I  stay." 

"You're  a  big  fool,"  responded  L.  Frank- 
land.  "That's  what  I  think." 


xxxn 
EEBELLION 

Georgia  walked  home  to  the  boarding  house 
that  evening,  as  was  her  custom  when  the 
weather  was  fair.  It  was  quite  a  tramp, 
three  miles,  but  then  the  fresh  air  and  exer- 
cise made  one  feel  so  well.  Besides,  if  one 
wants  to  be  sure  of  staying  slim — 

Mrs.  Plew,  the  landlady,  was  standing  on 
the  front  stoop  when  she  arrived,  talking 
of  carving  knives  to  an  old-fashioned  scissor - 
grinding  man,  the  sort  who  advertise  with  a 
bell  and  a  chant. 

'  '  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Connor." 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Plew." 

"Lovely  weather  we're  having." 

"Yes  indeed,  isn't  it?  My  partner — she 
lives  in  Woodlawn — saw  two  robins  this 
morning.  The  buds  ought  to  be  out  pretty 
soon  now." 

Mrs.  Plew  laughed.  "The  German  bands 
are  out  already.  That's  the  surest  sign  I 
know.  Oh,  Mrs.  Connor,"  Georgia,  who  was 

334 


Rebellion 

on  the  top  step  turned,  "  there  was  a  young 
man  came  to  see  you  this  afternoon.  He 
waited  nearly  an  hour.  He  didn't  leave  his 
name." 

"Did  he  say  anything  about  coming  back?" 

"No." 

"And  he  didn't  leave  his  name?" 

"No." 

"What  did  he  look  like?" 

"Well,  he  was  tall,  blue  clothes,  black 
derby  hat.  He  had  on  a  blue  tie  with  white 
dots.  I  don't  know  as  I  can  describe  him 
exactly.  It  was  kind  of  dark  in  the  hall  and 
I  didn't  get  a  good  look  at  him." 

Georgia  paused  with  her  hand  on  the  knob 
of  the  living  room  door,  as  she  heard  talking 
within,  her  mother's  uninflected  murmuring 
and  a  musical  masculine  voice,  deeper  than 
Al's.  It  must  be  Father  Hervey,  patient 
man,  who  came  regularly  once  a  fortnight, 
nominally  to  confer  with  Mrs.  Talbot  as  to 
the  activities  of  the  ladies'  advisory  board 
of  the  children's  summer-camp  school.  But 
his  visits  were  less  for  the  summer  school 
than  for  mama,  to  cheer  her  in  her  feeble 
loneliness. 

Georgia  slipped  back  to  her  own  room,  by 

335 


Rebellion 

way  of  the  hall.  An  instinct  has  been  grow- 
ing in  her  of  recent  months  to  avoid  falling 
into  talk  with  the  priest.  He  was  so  sure 
and  strong  and  dominating;  and  she  wanted 
to  think  for  herself. 

Al  was  whistling  loudly  in  his  back  little 
cubicle,  performing  sartorial  miracles  before 
his  square  pine-framed  mirror,  with  a  tall 
collar  that  lapped  in  front  and  a  very 
Princeton  tie,  orange  and  black,  broad 
stripes. 

She  smiled  reminiscently,  regretfully,  as 
she  stood  in  the  shadow  and  watched  his  gay 
evolutions  through  the  partly  opened  door. 
He  had  so  very  much  ahead  of  him  that  was 
behind  her.  He  had  the  spring. 

"Why  such  splendor ?"  she  asked  finally. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  you  were  there.  Why," 
he  explained,  amazed  that  explanation  was 
necessary,  "to-night  is  the  big  night.  Our 
Bachelor's  Dance.  Don't  you  remember  you 
were  invited — as  chaperone.  I'm  on  the 
committee. ' ' 

"Hope  you  have  a  good  time.  Who  are 
you  taking?" 

He  colored  defiantly.    "Annie  Traeger." 


336 


Rebellion 

"Oh-ho,  I  thought  it  was  Delia  Williamson 
that  you — " 

"It  was,  but  she  got  too  gay,  so  I  thought 
I'd  teach  her  a  lesson. " 

"Poor  Delia,"  sighed  Georgia,  mischie- 
vously. 

"Oh,  I'll  have  a  dance  or  two  with  her," 
Al  promised,  putting  on  his  coat  and  giving 
his  hair  a  last  pat  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 
He  departed  with  the  trill  of  a  mocking  bird. 
He  had  been  a  famous  whistler  from  child- 
hood. 

Georgia  tiptoed  to  the  door  of  the  living 
room.  There  was  no  sound.  Father  Hervey 
must  have  gone.  She  turned  the  knob  and 
went  in. 

"Good  evening,  my  child,"  said  the  priest, 
rising  courteously  and  extending  his  hand. 
' '  I  was  resting  a  moment,  hoping  you  might 
be  home." 

"Good  evening,  Father.  Thank  you  so 
much. ' ' 

"Your  mother,"  he  lowered  his  voice, 
"isn't  as  strong  as  her  friends  might  hope, 
I'm  afraid.  She  just  had  a  faint  spell,  and 
she's  in  there  now,  lying  down.  It  quite 
worried  me,  Georgia." 

337 


Rebellion 

"Yes,  sometimes  I'm  afraid  she  won't  get 
better." 

"She  has  told  me  she  wished  to  resign  from 
the  advisory  board  of  our  summer  school. 
That  shows  how  she  thinks  she  is.  You  know 
how  much  interest  she  always  took  in  the 
work  as  long  as  she  was  able." 

6  *  Yes — poor  mama. ' ' 

' l  It  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  her  if  you 
would  take  her  place. ' ' 

"Me?"  exclaimed  Georgia,  startled. 

"Yes.  She  is  very  anxious  to  keep  it  in 
the  family,  as  it  were, ' '  he  explained,  smiling. 

"Let's  see,"  asked  Georgia  slowly,  "who's 
on  that  board?" 

"Mrs.  Conway." 

"Mrs.  Conway,"  she  repeated,  picking  up 
a  newspaper  and  writing  on  the  margin. 

"Mrs.  Keough,  Mrs.  Schweppe,  Mrs. 
Cochrane." 

Georgia  wrote  on  the  newspaper  after  each 
name.  "And  mama,"  she  added.  She 
footed  the  total.  "Those  five  women  aggre- 
gate more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  years," 
she  bitterly  exclaimed.  "They're  an  ad- 
visory board,  because  they  can  only  advise 
about  life.  They're  past  living  it.  And  I — 

338 


Rebellion 

am  just  thirty.  No,  Father,  I  won't  go  on 
the  board — yet." 

She  was  curiously  resentful,  as  if  she  had 
received  an  insult.  She  walked  quickly  to 
the  window  and  threw  it  open,  looking  out 
and  turning  her  back  to  the  priest  until  she 
might  collect  herself  and  control  her  strange 
agitation. 

' i  Very  well,"  he  answered  gently,  "I  only 
hoped  that  it  might  please  your  mother."  He 
took  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  stood  up.  "Be- 
fore I  go,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  should  tell 
you  that  I  have  had  news  from  your  hus- 
band." He  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and 
held  it  out  toward  her. 

"No — I  won't  read  it,  thank  you." 

"He's  on  a  farm  in  Iowa,"  the  priest  said, 
"I  managed  it.  He's  been  doing  hard  work 
— and  is  much  better." 

"Yes,  he  may  raise  himself  up  a  little,  and 
then  just  when  people  are  beginning  to  hope 
for  the  hundredth  time,  he'll  relapse  and — 
wallow." 

"Yes,  I  am  afraid  sometimes  he  is  hope- 
less." The  despondency  was  plain  in  his 
voice. 

"He's    quite   hopeless.     He's    incurable. 

339 


Rebellion 

It's  a  disease;  but  it  works  slowly  on  him, 
like  leprosy." 

"Do  you  think  a  drunkard  is  wholly  to 
blame — for  his  malady?" 

"Oh,"  said  Georgia,  "I'm  not  sure  that 
anyone's  ever  to  blame  for  anything.  It 
just  happens,  that's  all." 

Mrs.  Plew  knocked  and  half  opened  the 
door.  "That  young  man's  back,"  she  said, 
"shall  I  show  him  in?"  Before  Georgia 
could  answer  Stevens  came  into  the  room. 

Without  greeting  of  any  kind,  in  rapid, 
mechanical  words,  as  if  he  had  learned  his 
piece  by  heart,  he  explained  his  abrupt 
coming. 

"I  have  received  a  business  offer,"  he 
began,  "which  if  I  accept  will  take  me  away 
from  America  for  a  term  of  years.  It  is  to 
superintend,  on  behalf  of  Mr.  Silverman,  the 
reorganization  of  certain  life  companies 
along  modern  American  lines  in  South 
America.  Headquarters,  Eio  de  Janiero, 
Brazil.  I  have  come  for  your  advice,  and 
your  advice  will  govern.  Shall  I  or  shall  I 
not  accept  the  offer?"  He  stopped  abruptly, 
looking  at  her  with  a  harsh,  almost  savage 
expression,  as  he  waited  for  her  reply. 

340 


Rebellion 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  he  burst  out. 
i '  Answer  me  yes  or  no. ' ' 

"You  know  Father  Hervey,  Mr.  Stevens, " 
she  said  coolly. 

"I  think  I  have  heard  of  you  before,  Mr. 
Stevens/'  the  priest  bowed  slightly. 

"And  I  have  heard  of  you,"  answered  the 
young  man  bitterly.  He  turned  to  Georgia. 
"Answer  me,"  he  repeated,  "yes  or  no." 

"If  it  is  an  advantageous  offer  from  a 
business  point  of  view,"  she  said  gently,  "I 
think  you  should  go,  Mason." 

"That  settles  it,"  said  he  between  his 
teeth.  "You'd  made  it  plain  enough  with 
your  silence.  I  said  I'd  come  when  you  sent 
for  me.  I  waited  and  waited,  but  you  never 
sent.  Every  single  day  I've  looked  in  the 
mail  hoping,  and  the  only  thing  I  got  from 
you  was — money.  And  when  I  found  that 
Connor  had  left  you,  had  been  gone  a  year, 
I  had  a  little  hope  again  that — Oh,  Georgia," 
he  exclaimed  in  his  wretchedness,  "you  did 
care  for  me  once.  Why  did  you  stop  ? ' ' 

"I  haven't  stopped,  Mason,  but — "  she 
motioned  toward  the  priest  in  his  black  and 
solemn  garments,  standing  beside  them  like 


341 


Rebellion 

a  stern  guardian,  "but — "  she  said,  and  her 
shoulders  seemed  to  droop  forward  irreso- 
lutely, "I'm  helpless." 

Stevens  took  a  step  toward  Father  Hervey 
and  there  was  almost  a  threat  in  his  gesture. 
"Don't  you  see,"  he  said,  his  two  fists 
clenched,  "that  if  someone  in  the  barroom 
had  cracked  Jim  Connor  over  the  head  with 
a  whiskey  bottle  during  his  last  spree  or  if 
D  Ts  had  hit  him  five  per  cent  harder  after- 
wards— I  could  have  her  with  your  blessing 
— and  we'd  be  happy — oh,  so  happy  as  we'd 
be,  Georgia!  It  isn't  as  if  I  wanted  to  break 
up  a  home.  The  home's  broken  up  already. 
Don't  you  see?  And  you're  telling  her  she 
can't  move  out  of  the  wreck.  She's  got  to  sit 
in  the  rubbish  as  long  as  the  man  who  made  it 
is  able  to  make  more." 

"Young  man,"  the  priest  answered  not  un- 
kindly, "will  you  listen  for  a  moment  to  an 
old  man?  I  believe  that  you  are  a  decent  sort 
— that  your  love  for  Georgia  is  honest — " 

"If  there  is  any  honesty  in  me,"  and  Stev- 
ens' voice  caught  and  broke. 

"Yours,  I  am  afraid,"  Father  Hervey  went 
on,  including  them  both  in  his  words,  "is  an 
example  of  those  rare  and  exceptional  cases 

342 


Rebellion 

where  at  the  first  sight  marriage  and  divorce 
would  seem  almost  permissible — ' 

"Yes,"  Stevens  interrupted  eagerly. 

"But  those  cases,  too,"  continued  the 
priest  in  his  melodious,  resonant,  trained 
voice,  "have  been  thoroughly  contemplated 
and  considered  by  the  deep  wisdom  of  the 
Church."  He  waited  an  instant,  then  pro- 
nounced sentence. 

"They  must  be  sacrificed  for  the  rest.  For 
if  a  single  exception  were  once  made,  others 
would  inevitably  follow ;  and  just  as  a  trickle 
through  a  dike  becomes  a  stream,  and  the 
stream  a  torrent,  so  whole  people  would  be 
inundated  in  a  flood  of  bestiality.  If  Georgia 
is,  as  you  say — in  any  sense  deprived  of  her 
womanhood,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  millions  on 
millions  of  others,  who  while  the  Church  can 
raise  her  voice — and  that,  my  friend,  will  be 
while  the  world  lasts — shall  not  be  abandoned 
in  their  helplessness." 

But  Stevens,  who  had  not  been  listening 
to  the  priest's  words  as  soon  as  he  saw  what 
conclusion  they  were  coming  to,  clapped  his 
hands  softly  together  and  smiled. 

"I  have  it,"  he  said,  "I  have  it  at  last. 
I  will  give  Jim  Connor  a  job  in  the  Eio 

343 


Rebellion 

branch — with  good  pay,  too — to  drink  him- 
self to  death  on.  Why  not,"  he  asked  him- 
self vehemently,  as  if  he  would  convince 
himself,  "that's  practical." 

"It  would  be  murder, "  the  priest  spoke  in 
a  voice  of  horror. 

"Not  by  the  letter  of  the  law — and  that's 
what  you  're  enforcing. ' ' 

"Of  course  I  shall  warn  him." 

"My  pay  will  talk  louder,"  said  Stevens, 
knowing  that  the  drunkard  is  always  on 
ticket-of-leave,  "and  he'll  have  all  the  time 
off  he  wants  for  aguardiente,  stronger  than 
whiskey,  and  cheaper.  No  white  man  can  go 
against  it  for  long  in  that  climate." 

Georgia  stood  back,  fascinated  by  the  duel 
of  the  two  men. 

"You  must  be  mad,  Stevens,"  said  the 
priest  with  a  note  of  fear  in  his  voice,  as  if  he 
realized  that  for  the  first  time  he  was  losing 
control  of  the  situation. 

"I'm  a  grown  man.  No  other  man  can 
say  'No'  to  me  forever.  If  Connor's  the  one 
obstacle  to  our  marriage — I'll  remove  it." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  with 
steady  and  increasing  anger. 

The  woman  laid  her  hand  upon  her  lover's 

344 


Rebellion 

shoulder.  "I  will  get  an  absolute  divorce, 
Mason, "  she  said. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  that?"  the  priest 
asked,  and  his  deep  voice  shook. 

"I  could  give  you  my  soul,  Father,  but 
not  his,  too." 

Stevens  took  her  hands  in  his  and  they 
stood  together,  separated  by  nearly  the 
width  of  the  room  from  the  old  priest.  He 
turned  his  eyes  from  them  as  from  an  im- 
pious spectacle,  and  looked  upward,  his  lips 
moving  silently  as  if  in  prayer.  When  he 
spoke,  there  was  new  force  in  his  voice,  as 
if  he  had  received  help  and  strength. 

"Georgia,"  he  spoke  with  conscious 
dignity,  in  the  full  authority  of  his  office, 
"for  fifteen  hundred  years  your  people 
whoever  they  were,  artisans,  farmers,  lords 
and  beggars,  have  belonged  to  our  faith. 
The  tradition  is  in  your  blood.  You  cannot 
cast  it  out.  And  as  you  grow  older,  and  your 
blood  cools,  the  fifteen  hundred  years  will 
speak  to  you;  you  will  regret  your  sin  bit- 
terly; and  in  the  end  you  will  leave  him  or 
you  will  die  in  fear. ' ' 

"No,  Father,"  she  said,  slowly  as  if  feel- 
ing for  her  words.  "It  is  all  much  plainer 

345 


Rebellion 

now.  God  is  not  a  secret  from  the  common 
people.  He  talks  to  each  of  us  direct,  not 
roundabout  through  priests  and  books  and 
churches.  He  has  put  His  purpose  straight 
into  our  natures.  He  doesn't  deal  with  us 
at  second  hand.  And  I  begin  to  see  His  mean- 
ing— He  gave  us  life  to  live — and  to  make 
again." 

"According  to  His  ordinance." 

"Yes,"  her  answer  came  quickly  and 
boldly,  "according  to  his  ordinance,  written 
in  the  heart  of  every  woman — that  the  sin  of 
sins  for  her  is  to  live  with  a  man  in  hate. 
When  she  does  that — street  girl  or  wife — 
she's  much  the  same.  Oh,  there's  many  and 
many  a  degradation  blessed  by  the  wedding 
ring.  That's  against  His  plan,  or  why  should 
He  warn  us  so?  Women — at  least  common, 
average  women  like  me — were  put  here  to 
love,  not  just  to  submit.  If  you  forbid  us  to 
love  in  honor,  you  forbid  us  to  live  in  honor. 
And  the  life  God  gave  me,  I  will  use  and  not 
refuse." 

"My  child!  If  you  do  not  repent  in 
time—  '  the  suffering  was  plain  in  the  old 
man's  voice. 


346 


Rebellion 

"I  cannot  repent  that  I  have  become  my- 
self. " 

"Then,"  he  slowly  uttered  the  inexorable 
words,  "you  cannot  receive  absolution." 

"Father,"  she  answered,  "the  only  thing 
I  am  sorry  about,  and  I  am  sorrier  than  you 
know,  is  that  it  will  make  you,  personally  so 
unhappy ! ' ' 

For  a  few  seconds  there  was  neither  move- 
ment nor  sound  in  the  room.  Then  the  old 
priest,  with  trembling  hands  and  bent  shoul- 
ders, passed  from  the  room,  and  forever  from 
Georgia's  sight. 


347 


xxxm 
THE  APE 

Father  Hervey  went  slowly  and  cautiously 
down  the  front  steps,  holding  to  the  rail  with 
his  right  hand  and  putting  his  left  foot  for- 
ward for  each  separate  step.  He  did  not 
remember  being  so  weary  and  discouraged 
for  many  years.  He  walked  back  to  the 
parish  house,  his  head  slightly  bowed,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him,  unnoting,  or  nod- 
ding slightly  and  in  silence  to  those  who 
greeted  him. 

Among  all  the  backslidings  that  he  could 
remember  in  his  long  pastorate  there  had 
been  few,  perhaps  none,  that  had  saddened 
him  more  than  this  one.  He  had  grieved  for 
many  a  vain  and  foolish  sheep  that  had 
strayed  away  into  the  briers  of  sin,  not  to  be 
found  again,  until,  wounded  and  wasted,  it 
stumbled  home  to  die.  For  such  is  the  na- 
ture of  sheep  and  poor  souls. 

But  Georgia's  case  was  not  within  that 
parable.  She  was  not  weak  or  will-less.  Her 

348 


The  Ape 

sin  had  been  with  cold  deliberation,  in  open, 
defiant  rebellion  against  the  Church,  know- 
ing the  price  of  what  she  did.  Very  well,  let 
her  pay  it.  His  old  lips  drew  together  in  a 
thin  bloodless  line,  as  in  his  mind  he  con- 
demned her  in  reprisal  for  her  few  years  of 
rebellious  happiness  to  eternal  and  infinite 
woe.  God  was  merciful,  but  also  he  was  just, 
and  that  was  justice.  Yet  the  priest  could 
not  persist  in  the  mood.  Presently,  in  spite 
of  himself  he  softened  toward  her.  That  she 
— the  little  child  whom  he  had  held  in  his 
arms  and  breathed  upon  at  the  baptismal 
font,  had  come  at  last  to  this — 

It  was  the  age,  this  wicked  age  of  atheism, 
he  told  himself  fiercely,  that  had  corrupted 
her.  She  could  not  be  altogether,  altogether 
to  blame  that  the  current  had  been  too  swift 
for  her  to  swim  against.  Perhaps  the  gentle 
Savior  would  yet  touch  her  spirit  with  His 
mercy  and  guide  her  at  last  to  the  foot  of  His 
throne. 

Doubt  poisoned  the  very  air  she  breathed ; 
it  broke  out  like  boils  and  deep  sores  in  the 
newspapers  and  books,  symptoms  of  the  cor- 
ruption beneath;  it  was  strident  in  the  crass 


349 


Rebellion 

levity  of  the  talk  and  slang  of  the  street.    It 
could  not  be  escaped. 

America,  save  for  the  Catholic  fifteen  mil- 
lion, doubted.  The  faithful  stood  like  an 
island  rising  out  of  the  waters  of  agnosti- 
cism. Was  it  strange  that  where  the  waves 
beat  hardest,  some  of  the  sand  was  washed 


Fifty  years  ago  when  he  was  a  young  man 
there  had  arisen  in  the  world  the  great  anti- 
Christ,  who  had  been  more  harmful  than 
Luther — Darwin,  the  monkey  man.  The 
Protestant  churches,  as  ever  uninspired,  had 
first  fought,  then  compromised  with  him. 
They  tried  to  swallow  and  digest  Darwinism. 
But  Darwinism  had  digested  them.  The  an- 
thropoid ape  had  shaken  the  throne  of 
Luther's  Jehovan  God.  The  greater  anti- 
Christ  had  consumed  the  lesser. 

The  Church  alone  stood  firm.  She  had  ad- 
mitted no  orang-outangs  to  her  communion 
table,  and  now  her  policy  was  justified  by  its 
fruits.  Her  faithful  remained  the  only  Chris- 
tians in  Christendom. 

Ecclesia  Depopulata,  ran  the  old  prophecy, 
the  Church  deserted.  And  the  time  was  near 
upon  them  for  the  fulfillment  of  the  words. 

350 


The  Ape 

France,  Italy,  Portugal,  and  even  Spain,  were 
in  revolution  against  the  Keys  of  Peter.  The 
evil  days  were  coming,  Ecclesia  Depopulates. 

But  a  new  age  of  faith  was  to  follow,  so 
also  it  was  prophesied.  The  deathless  Church 
could  not  die.  Once  again  she  was  to  rule  a 
pious  world  in  might,  majesty,  dominion  and 
power — and  her  sway  would  endure  until  the 
last  day. 

He  fell  upon  his  knees  in  his  bare  ascetic 
study  and  presently  arose  refreshed,  a  fight- 
ing veteran  in  the  army  that  will  make  no 
peace  but  a  victor 's. 


351 


XXXIV 

WHICH  BEGINS  ANOTHER  STORY 


MAKES    DIVOECE     SPEED    BECOHD 


Judge  Peebles  Sets  New  Pace  for 
Untying  Nuptial  Knots. 

Cupid  went  down  for  the  count  in  the 
courtroom  of  Circuit  Judge  James  M. 
Peebles  when  five  couples  were  legally 
separated  yesterday  afternoon  between  3 
and  4  o'clock — about  ten  minutes  for  each 
case.  This  is  said  to  establish  a  new  record 
in  Cook  county  for  rapid-fire  divorce.  The 
cases,  which  were  uncontested,  were  as 
follows : 

Each  el  Sieglinde  vs.  Max  Sieglinde; 
abandonment. 

Harmon  A.  Darroch  vs.  Lottie  Dar- 
roch;  infidelity. 

Mary  Stiles  vs.  Jonathan  Stiles;  drunk- 
enness. 

Georgia  Connor  vs.  James  Connor; 
drunkenness. 

Sarah  Bush  vs.  Oscar  Bush;  drunken- 
ness and  cruelty. 

None  of  the  defendants  appearing,  the 
decrees  were  entered  by  default. 


Georgia  read  the  item  twice  and  smiled 
bitterly.  So  her  divorce  was  one  of  the 
11  rapid  fire"  variety!  They  said  it  had  taken 
ten  minutes.  She  knew  it  had  taken  ten  years. 

352 


Which  Begins  Another  Story 

And  Bush,  Darroch,  those  other  people — 
might  they  not  also  have  walked  in  Gethse- 
mane?  Was  this  what  the  papers  meant  by 
their  humorous  accounts  of  "divorce  mills "? 
She  had  received  an  especially  vivid  impres- 
sion of  Mr.  Darroch  and  never  would  forget 
him.  His  case  had  come  just  before  her  own. 
He  had  spoken  in  a  nasal,  penetrating  voice 
and  she  heard  plainly  every  word  when  he 
testified.  He  was  a  short  middle-aged  man 
whose  young  wife,  after  ruining  him  by  her 
extravagance,  had  run  away  with  a  tall 
traveling  salesman.  Even  after  that  Mr. 
Darroch  had  offered  to  forgive  her  and  take 
her  back.  But  she  wouldn't  come.  Then 
finally  he  divorced  her,  as  the  reporter  put  it, 
with  record-breaking  speed. 

The  day  after  her  decree  was  granted 
Georgia  Talbot  Connor  and  Mason  Stevens 
went  by  automobile  to  Crown  Point,  Indiana, 
where,  with  Albert  Talbot  and  Leila  Frank- 
land  as  witnesses,  they  were  presently  as- 
sured by  a  justice  of  the  peace  that  they  now 
were  man  and  wife. 

She  was  compelled  to  cross  the  state  line 
for  the  ceremony  because  the  laws  of  Illinois 
forbade  her  remarriage  within  a  year;  and 

353 


Rebellion 

she  thought  that  she  had  waited  long  enough, 
the  state  legislature  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing. 

The  party  of  four,  when  they  returned  to 
Chicago  had  a  bridal  dinner  in  a  private 
room,  with  white  ribbons  and  cake.  When 
it  was  finished  Georgia  kissed  L.  Frankland 
for  the  second  time  in  their  lives.  The  first 
time  was  in  the  automobile  on  the  way  back 
from  Crown  Point. 

"Good-bye,  Al,"  she  said  to  her  brother. 
"You  must  come  to  see  us  in  Kansas  City 
soon." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Stevens. 

"I  certainly  will,"  promised  Al. 

"And  mama,"  she  spoke  a  little  wistfully, 
"tell  her  we'd  like  her  to  come  too  if  she 
would.  Tell  her,  Al." 

"Yes,  all  right." 

"I'll  send  you  something  every  week  for 
her.  Maybe,  I'm  not  sure,  maybe  I'll  keep 
on  working." 

"Maybe  you  won't,"  Mason  interjected 
with  conjugal  promptitude. 

"Don't  be  too  sure,"  she  laughed,  "and 
anyway,  if  you  don't  behave  nicely  I  can  al- 
ways go  back  to  L.  Frankland." 

354 


Which  Begins  Another  Story 

When  the  man  and  his  wife  were  alone  in 
their  room  he  returned  to  the  moment  of 
their  betrothal. 

" Dearest/'  he  said,  "when  the  priest  went 
out  and  left  us — " 

"Yes." 

"I  felt  almost  as  if  he  were  trying  to  lay 
a  curse  on  us." 

"Yes,  that  was  the  meaning  of  it." 

"When  he  said  you  couldn't  receive  abso- 
lution." 

"Yes,  our — their  teaching  is  that  without 
absolution  a  soul  in  sin  is  damned  eternally." 

"And  you  will  never  be  afraid?"  he  asked, 
almost  fearful  of  his  wonderful  new  happi- 
ness. 

She  pressed  her  husband's  hand  against 
her  breast,  so  that  he  felt  the  strong  and 
steady  beating  of  her  heart. 

"No,"  she  answered  him,  "I  will  never  be 
afraid.  For  I  believe  that  God  will  under- 
stand everything." 

THE  END. 


355 


"Has  a  Charm  of  It's  Own" 
What   Happened  at    Olenberg 

BY  CLIFFORD  HOWARD 

Author  of  "The  Story  of  a  Young  Man" 
"The  Passover,"  Etc. 

The  Philadelphia  Press  says:— 

"Fiction,  in  spite  of  the  vast  yearly  output,  tends  to  be 
so  entirely  stereotyped  in  manner  that  any  new  depar- 
ture, however  slight  its  subject,  cannot  fail  to  prove  re- 
freshing. Probability  is  one  of  the  gods  the  fiction 
writer  kneels  to  in  unquestioning  adoration;  however 
improbable  his  story  may  be  in  actual  substance,  it  must 
be  given  a  plausable  air.  Therefore  will  the  reader  be 
surprised,  no,  amazed — yet  why  not  agreeably? — when 
he  discovers  that  Clifford  Howard,  in  his  fantastical 
story  of  "What  Happened  at  Olenberg"  has  first  of  all 
taken  pains  to  throw  probability  to  the  winds. 

This  most  entertaining  extravaganza,  is  perhaps  best 
described  as  a  cross  between  fairy  tale  and  comic  opera. 
Granted  such  a  condition  of  affairs,  the  manner  of  tell- 
ing must  be  counted  on  for  the  success  or  failure  of  the 
book — and  it  is  here,  indeed,  that  Mr.  Howard  scores. 
He  takes  us  to  an  incredible,  half  charming,  half  ab- 
surd land  of  childhood  romance;  then  by  telling  us  an 
improbable  fairy  story  about  the  impossible  inhabitants, 
succeeds  in  creating  a  merry  and  delightful  illusion. 
It  is  the  sort  of  thing  which  Lewis  Carroll  did,  with 
genius,  in  his  *  'Alice  in  Wonderland. ' ' 

The  eight  colored  pictures  and  many  illustrations  in 
black-and-white  are  the  work  of  Emile  A.  Nelson  at 
his  best.  They  help  the  story  to  make  for  laughter. 

Size  8vo.     Beautifully  printed;  cloth 
bound,  with  fancy  jacket  in  colors. 

Price  $1.00  net. 


MOST  DELIGHTFUL 
TRAVEL     BOOKS 


Three  Weeks  In  Europe 

Three  Weeks  In  Holland  and  Belgium 

Three  Weeks  In  The  British  Isles 

By  John  U.  Higinbotham 

They  are  not  *  guides' '  but  invaluable  to  those  about  to 
make  a  first  trip  to  Europe.  Full  of  just  the  necessary 
information  and  pertinent  suggestions — all  presented  in 
the  form  of  a  charming  and  readable  narrative.  Those 
who  cannot  go  abroad  will  find  these  books  the  best 
sort  of  a  substitute. 

Some  Press  Comments 

"  'Three  Weeks  In  The  British  Isles'  is  as  bright  and  breezy  as  its  predecessors  — 
'Three  Weeks  In  Europe'  and  'Three  Weeks  In  Holland  and  Belgium'  -  which  is  say- 
ing a  great  deal  for  it."  Chicago  "Record-Herald" 
"The  text  is  illuminating,  humorous,  observant  and  in  every  way  entertaining,  and  the 
illustrations  very  good."  Salt  Lake  "Tribune1 
"Filled  with  delightful  descriptions  and  hearty  laughs."  Hutchinson.  Kansas,  "News' 
"Interesting,  cheery  and  chatty."  Chicago  "Tribune1 
"Mr.  Higinbotham  has  a  delightful  knack  of  describing  what  he  sees." 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  "Eagle1 

"The  illustrations  show  much  individuality."  Louisville  "Courier-Journal' 

"Mr.  Higinbotham's  books  make  ideal  deputy  travelers  for  thousands — presenting  un- 
der the  guise  of  pleasantry  a  wealth  of  information."  Boston  "News-Herald11 
"In  all  particulars  unlike  professional  guide  books.  The  illustrations  are  entirely  out 
of  the  usual."  Richmond,  Va.,  "Times-Dispatch" 

50  Beautiful  Full-page  Half-tone  Illustrations 
in  Each  Volume. 

12mos.     Handsomely  bound  in  fine  cloth 
and   stamped  attractively   in  three   inks. 

Price  $1.50  each 


MISS  MINERVA 
WILLIAM  GREEN  HILL 

By  FRANCES  BOYD  CALHOUN 

This  delightful  book  has  already  run  through 
twelve  large  editions.    The  thirteenth  edi- 
tion—10,000—just   published. 

Miss  Minerva,  spinister, — the  Major, 
persistent  suitor, — and  William  Green  Hill, 
mischief  personified,  furnish  212  pages  of 
laughter.  Every  page  brims  with  irresisti- 
ble fun — every  incident  is  a  cure  for  the 
blues.  A  book  to  read  and  re-read. 

If  you  are  a  part  in  the  fun-loving  world, 
you  will  want  to  read  about  Billy  and  his 
friends,  and  you  will  soon  be  one  of  them. 
No  more  likable  boy  has  been  written  about. 

According  to  the  Newspapers 
MISS  MINERVA  and 
WILLIAM  GREEN  HILL 

"thrills  with  merriment"  "bubbling  with  fun" 

"is  deliciously  funny"  "wholesome  humor" 

a  laugh  on  every  page"  sunshine  and  smiles" 

"a  scream  from  start  to  finish" 
'natural  and  delightful" 

There  are  26  chapters  of  jollity.  There  are  212  pages 
to  scream  over.  There  are  more  than  20  pictures  to 
laugh  at.  Size  of  book,  4&'x7  inches.  Bound  in  cloth. 

Price  $1.00 


Four  Famous  Poems 
In  Gift  Book  Form 

THE  RAVEN 
EVANGELINE 
HIAWATHA 
SNOW-BOUND 

These  four  famous  poems  have  been  wonderfully 
illustrated  by  JOHN  R.  NEILL 

They  are  the  most  beautiful  editions  published  at  a 
popular  price.  The  highest  quality  of  paper,  press- 
work  and  binding  has  made  a  splendid  setting  for  Mr. 
NeilTs  remarkable  illustrations,  which  are  quite  differ- 
ent from  his  juvenile  work  and  extremely  beautiful  in 
design  and  execution. 

Each  volume  contains  twenty  full-page  illustrations  in 
two  colors  from  line  and  wash  drawings,   and   many 
decorations,  tail  pieces  and  ornaments. 
Full  explanatory  notes  and  glossaries  accompany  each 
poem,  this  work  being  edited  by  Wallace  Rice. 

Bound  in  extra  fancy  cloth  with  beautiful  full' 
cover  inlay  in  three  colors  and  gold.     Boxed. 

Price  $1.25  each. 

Bound    in    Swiss    velvet    ooze; 

Stiff  boards  with  beveled  edges. 

Boxed. 

Price  $2.25  each 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 

or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

•  2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 
(510)642-6753 

•  1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing 
books  to  NRLF 

•  Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made 
4  days  prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

MAR  1  8  2003 


DD20   15M  4-02 


N9   607936 


Patterson,  J.M.  PS3?31 

Rebellion.  A8312 

RL  ' 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


